


home is where the heart is

by troubledpancakes



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: All of the Feelings, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-06 08:19:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1851058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troubledpancakes/pseuds/troubledpancakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Packing up everything she owns after dropping out of medical school, Clarke finds herself broken down in the middle-of-nowhere Ark, Georgia. With every intention of getting it fixed and on the road the next morning, she takes a chance to relieve tension with a handsome mechanic: only to find it might not be that easy to just pack up leave. </p><p>(Rather fluffy, smidgen smutty, of course a smidge of out character in ways, but that's what AU is all about-- they didn't have the same things leading up to being the person they are now - and finally a bit of angst, a little something for everyone, tbh!)</p><p>Overall rating: M (for language, sexual themes/descriptions)</p><p>Title inspiration: Lady Antebellum song.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. intro

You're now reading: Home is Where the Heart Is--


	2. intro

Clarke’s beat up Camry was full to the brim with her belonging as she drove down the highway, trying to avoid the rear-view mirror. Dropping out of medical school was never in the plan, but she hadn't counted on everything else in her life falling to pieces in the matter of a week, either. Her dad’s memory was everywhere. She couldn't stay in Maryland anymore, not with her mom, not with _him_ , not after everything.

She had been driving for almost 10 hours, with no plan. She crossed state line after state line, until she finally crossed into Georgia and her car started making strange noises.

_No, no, no. Not now._

On top of that, it had started raining. Not just drizzling, but full on, tropical storm rain.

The clunking got louder and louder.  _Clunk. Clunk. Clunk._

“Come on, baby. Just a little bit farther.” Clarke could see lights up ahead, maybe a diner or a gas station? She had no idea. Practically in the middle of nowhere, she heard the engine turn over and stall out. _Shit._ She sat there for a minute, forehead resting on the steering wheel. She was exhausted and, of course, she was pretty sure her umbrella was packed in a box that was _under_ all the other boxes. _Of course._

She snatched up her purse, pulled the hood of her sweatshirt up and began the trek toward the tiny town up ahead. Clarke passed a sign on the side of the road that road **Ark, Georgia** , Population: 2,658. Oh god. She _was_ in the middle of nowhere. The lights in the local diner were still on and the bell jingled as she stepped inside, soaking wet and creating a small puddle where she stood in the doorway.

There were only a few people inside and there was a sleepy looking young woman behind the bar, hair braided in an ornate manner. “You alright, miss?”

Clarke tried to run her hands through the messy of tangled blonde curls, but it was no use. “Yeah, um, no, I mean, not really. My car broke down just outside the town line and I don’t have my AAA card or anything.”  She managed to sputter out. “Also, I clearly forgot where I packed my umbrella.”

“Yeah, that Georgia rain will get you. The name’s Monroe, can I get you a cup of coffee while I call a friend of mine to help you out?”

“Hot coffee would be a dream, thank you.” Clarke slid into a stool at the bar, wrapping her hands around the warm mug Monroe had placed in from of it. She sipped on it slowly, the liquid warming her, as Monroe tended to the other patrons. Hearing the bells on the door jingle, she turned to see a tall, dark-haired (handsome) man with an insane amount of freckles standing in the entrance, slightly damp from the storm.

“Hey, Blake, this is the gal here." Monroe nodded to Clarke. "I’m sorry, I didn't catch your name?”

“It’s Clarke,” she said, taking one last swallow of coffee and hopping off the stool.

“Bellamy," the man offered. "Why don’t we go see what we can do about your car?”

Clarke nodded and followed Bellamy out the door. He opened up a large umbrella and she tried to hover as closely as possible to him to avoid the rain. Bellamy didn't say much on their journey to the car. Upon arrival, he just handed her the umbrella and popped open the hood. Standing there with his eyes narrowed, he focused on the inner workings of her hunk of junk 1997 Toyota Camry.

“It looks like there might be something wrong with the engine, but I can’t pinpoint it here in the dark. With all this rain, there’s no way I'll be able to figure it out tonight, it’ll have to wait until morning.”

Bellamy caught a glimpse of the boxes and bags piled high in the back of the car. _Where could she possibly be going?_

Clarke sighed, trying to hold herself together. She was beyond exhausted and it was starting to show. She never cries _(well, not **never**.)_ But, her heart was just not having it today.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. It’s okay, please don’t cry.” Bellamy stood there awkwardly, not sure if he should try and comfort the girl.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” she sputtered between sobs. “I am a goddamned mess. I literally have no idea where I’m going or what I’m doing. My mom’s a bitch. I lost my dad six weeks ago. It turns out my boyfriend had a fiancée. I dropped out of med school. I have no job and pretty much no money. And, I’m fairly certain I forgot to cancel my Netflix account.” 

Bellamy stared at the soaking wet sobbing girl who was pouring her heart out in the middle of the night and the road. “Hey.” He cleared his throat. “It’s going to be okay. I promise. I’ll get my buddies out first thing in the morning, we’ll tow your car into the shop and get her fixed up.”

“Thank you." She sniffled pathetically. "I, um, do you know if there is a hotel in town, or something?” She pulled a large duffel out of the backseat.

Bellamy was quiet for a moment.  _This is either a really good idea or a really bad idea._ “I've got some extra room in my apartment. It’s small, but it’s warm and doesn't smell like the Super 8.” He looked at the ground nervously. Bellamy had never invited a complete stranger into his home before. She could be on the run for all he knew. God.

“Oh my god, you totally don’t have to do that. The Super 8 is completely fine,” she said, shaking her head.

“Please. Look, it’s the middle of the night and you’re soaking wet. God knows you need a hot shower.” _Don’t think about her naked, God Bellamy._ “... and a warm bed.”

Clarke shifted her weight nervously. “Okay.”

Bellamy stepped toward her, took the duffel from her and motioned forward. “After you, princess.” _Oh god, what was that?_  Clarke turned, trying to hide the red flooding her cheeks. Poking their heads back into the diner, Bellamy informed Monroe that they would take care of the car first thing in the morning and that she was going to stay with him for the evening. Clarke felt more comfortable knowing that someone else knew where she was, but all the same, she felt oddly at ease in Bellamy’s presence.

He lived a few blocks from the diner. Piling into his rusty red pick-up truck, they spent a few minutes in silence until they pulled into what looked like an auto shop.

“I live upstairs,” he replied to her silent question.

She nodded and followed him up a creaky set of stairs on the side of the building.

It was small, but it was warm. He had two mismatched couched pushed together in an L shape, along with a coffee table and a small television. The bed was in the opposite corner. He was a simple guy. Bellamy was running through a few things about his apartment: where the bathroom was, and so on… but Clarke was taking in her surroundings. There was a picture on the wall. It was of Bellamy in an military uniform standing next to a similar looking girl, petite with olive skin and a bright smile. 

“... let me grab a clean towel for you.” Clarke snapped to attention as Bellamy brushed past her to reach the closet. He handed her a plush grey towel and then he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Uh, are you hungry? Thirsty? I've got--”

“I would really love to just shower, if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah, no, of course.”

Although Clarke smiled, her eyes were tinged with sadness. She disappeared into the bathroom and he heard the water turn on. Bellamy thought she was beautiful, despite the puffy eyes and wet clothes clinging to her.  _God, I’m in trouble._

He made himself busy, pulling out a beer and the leftover lasagna Octavia had made him dinner a few nights ago. He turned the oven on and sipped on his beer. Setting his drink down, be moved to pull out some blankets and grab a pillow from his bed to create a nest for himself on the couch.

Clarke emerged from the bathroom a bit later, her damp hair pulled into a messy bun on top of her head. She had a worn-looking pair of sweats on and t-shirt that was three sizes too big that read _Dad of the Year”_  He didn't comment.

“I have some lasagna almost ready in the kitchen. Nothing fancy, just leftovers.” He took another sip and nodded towards his beer. “You want one?”

Clarke nodded and he reached to the fridge to grab another for her. Turning back to face her, Bellamy saw she was doodling something on the pad of paper by the phone. She set the pencil down and took the beer from him.

“Thanks,” she said. “For all of this, I mean.”

“It’s nothing, really. We’ll get your car fixed up in the morning and you’ll be on your way.”

Clarke smiled sadly.

They ate their lasagna in silence and Bellamy took the empty plates and bottles to the sink. Clarke was looking at the few pictures that adorned the otherwise empty walls of the apartment.

“Where did you serve?”

“What?” Bellamy turned away from the dishes at the sink.

“The picture with the girl… I’m assuming this was before a deployment?”

“Oh.” Bellamy looked at his feet, shifting his weight. “Afghanistan. Two tours.” He pulled the collar away from his neck a bit to reveal a large patch of scarred tissue. “Honorably discharged.”

Clarke looked away embarrassed. “I’m so sorry.”

“Nah, I’m alive. Can’t say the same for most of my platoon though.”

He ran his hand through his hair, he did that when he was nervous.

“Is that your sister in the picture with you?”

“Yep. Just me and Octavia nowadays. She’s actually the one who made the lasagna. She comes over to cook for me a couple times a month, something about making sure I don’t eat takeout every night or whatever.”

Clarke smiled, Bellamy’s eye had a light to them when he talked about Octavia. “You’ll have to give her my regards, the lasagna was delicious.”

“I’ll make sure to do that.”

Clarke reached to rub her shoulders.

“You alright?” Bellamy raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, being in the car all day will really tighten your muscles up. Not to mention the hellish few weeks I've had.”

Bellamy had finished the dishes and was drying his hands as he turned to meet her in the living area. “Sorry.”

“No need to be, it’s not your problem.”

He was only a few feet away, but _god, she smelled like strawberries._ They had both started in on another drink.

“So, why come back to a small town in the middle-of-nowhere, Georgia?” Clarke plopped down onto the couch, tucking her feet beneath her.

“Uh.” Bellamy sat down on the arm of the couch. “Like I said, I got discharged, and, uh, my sister’s pretty much the only thing I have left in the world. Our parents died about two months after I got out of the army. I came back to raise her, keep an eye on her.” He touched his lips. “I mean, she’s old enough to take care of herself now, but I still worry about her. I choose to stay close.”

Clarke caught herself staring at his lips. She looked back up to his eyes, soft eyes, eyes that had seen a lot. 

“Tell me about her.” Clarke smiled.

They sat and talked, mostly about Bellamy. Clarke tried to keep the conversation off anything to do with her. He talked about his sister. (Clarke was an only child.) She laughed when he said maybe she got lucky that she didn't have to worry about someone else’s well-being all the time. He talked about his time overseas and how he got shot. He talked about his platoon and how they had been ambushed. How he had lost his best friend, Miller. Clarke noticed the extra tag on the chain he wore around his neck. He talked about how his dad had taught him about cars and it seemed like the only logical thing to do when he came back to Ark.

Clarke talked too. But not about her mom. Not about her dad. Not about _him_. She talked about her crappy Camry and how she’d worked an entire summer babysitting in high school to be able to afford it. Shuddering, she retold the the tales of the nightmarish children she endured and the parents that didn't pay her enough to endure it. She talked about her love of art and how there was a huge box of charcoals and paints in the back of the Camry that took up more space than her clothes did.

Clarke’s hand moved in patterns against the cushion and Bellamy had moved off the arm of the couch onto the couch itself. 

“Shit.” Bellamy said looking at his watch. “How is it already one?”

Clarke had melted into the couch. Still awake, but her breathing was steady and her face was warm.

“I, uh-- I changed the sheets on the bed for you. I was gonna take the couch.”

Clarke looked at Bellamy, he was handsome. His hair looked like he just rolled out of bed-- and not in like a sloppy way, but in a way that made her want to grab a hold of his face and crash their lips together.

Bellamy looked at Clarke, she was beautiful. She looked like she carried the weight of the world and he just wanted to make it all melt away. She was kind and quiet, but she was strong.

Clarke sat up. “You really didn't have to do that.”

Bellamy just shrugged. Clarke dragged herself up from the couch, bringing herself just a few steps from him.

“I’d be just fine on the couch.” She stepped closer.

“I’m sure you would, but you’ll probably get a better nights sleep if you sleep in the bed.”

“Why don’t we share?”

Clarke was surprised at the words coming out of her own mouth, only inches from Bellamy, heat radiating between them. “Oh?” Bellamy brought his hand to Clarke’s face, her skin soft under his calloused palm.

Tension dangled between them. She’d be gone tomorrow. What could it hurt. They both needed a release, a comfort, whatever you want to call it.

He ran his thumb along her cheekbone before he leaned in to press his lips to hers. Clarke’s hands were in his hair, Bellamy moving his hands to her hips. He felt her tongue flick across his lips, opening his mouth to deepen the kiss. Clarke’s hands danced along the hem of his shirt, Bellamy breaking away for a minute to pull his shirt over his head. His hands were back on Clarke, running along the curve of her back to her waist and grabbing under her as she wrapped her legs around him.

He dropped her down on the bed, hovering over her for a moment, her hands pulling him back onto her mouth. He planted his hands on either sides of her head, kissing her heatedly. He pulled back, slipping his hands under her shirt and pulling it over her head.

It got stuck, Clarke throwing her head back in laughter. Hands were everywhere: hers undoing his belt, mostly unsuccessfully, and his running under the waistband of her sweatpants, getting frustrated at the knot in the drawstring. They didn’t fit together right away, Bellamy bobbing when Clarke weaved. But as they laughed and kissed, they both felt the stress melt away.

For a moment, Clarke forgot the problems she left behind.

For a moment, Bellamy forgot about the people he’d lost.

Their bodies began to move together in a delicious harmony, both humming with heat and pleasure. Bellamy moving into her and Clarke meeting him each time. They laid there when it was over. In the quiet, Clarke smiled with eyes closed and she nestled into his side. She drew shapes on his chest with her fingertips absentmindedly, while Bellamy looked at her. She didn't see the way he looked at her.

He felt her fall asleep, her hand slowing to rest on his chest, her breath warm and steady. He turned out the lamp with the free arm. Almost wide awake.

* * *

Clarke woke up to the warmth of the sun. The space beside her now cold and empty, except for a note.

_Down in the shop working on the Camry. Coffee is brewing. - Bellamy_

Reality hit her hard. The car would be fixed up in no time and she’d be on the road again. But that’s what she wanted, right?

Clarke got herself ready, gathering her things from the apartment and wandering down into the shop below. Bellamy was wearing a gray t-shirt,  covered in sweat and grease, body suspended over her engine. A large metal clang came from the corner and Clarke turned to see two guys: one popping peanuts into his mouth with a smirk on his face and the other with rather large goggles perched on his head, gaping. Bellamy turned to see Clarke standing there anxiously.

“Ignore those two.” Bellamy grabbed a rag and attempted to remove some of the grease from his hands.

Clarke just smiled, something about the sweaty man in front of her keeping her focus away from the others.

“So, I have some good news and some bad news.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow. “Good news?”

“We know what’s wrong with your car.”

“...bad news?”

“It requires a part we don’t have. We already called the 6 closest shops, no one in a 5-hour radius has the part because the car is old and the part is uncommon. We tried the manufacturer and the part is on back order, so they need to do some digging to find a replacement.”

“And how long is that going to take?”

Bellamy wiped his forehead, smearing the grease even more. “Could be a few days, could be three weeks. No way to tell. I’m really sorry.” He stood there awkwardly. Sfter last night, they were just supposed to go on with their lives. Now what?

Clarke sat down on the workbench.

_Guess I won’t be going anywhere anytime soon._


	3. the bunker

“A few weeks?” Clarke said, “A few… weeks?”

Bellamy shrugged apologetically, “Yeah, a 1997 Camry isn't something we see around these parts very often anymore, and unfortunately it’s not something we can just stick some duct tape on and send you on your way.”

“Yeah, no, I understand. Of course.” Clarke sat there for a moment, thinking about the situation, “I’m just trying to figure out my next move. The amount of money I have left to my name is pretty much what it’s going to cost me to get my baby up and running again.”

“Don’t you have anyone you can call? That can help you?”

“The only person left is mom. When I dropped out of med school, she said: you can leave, but don’t you expect me to pick up the pieces when you start to fall apart. So, no. There’s no going back. Nobody back home is going to help me pick up these pieces.”

“... Stay here, then.” Bellamy said, almost too quickly.

“What?"

“Stay here. In Ark. We’re a quiet town, a good community. Plenty of people to help you pick up your pieces.”

Clarke thought about it all afternoon. Bellamy had helped her unload the rest of her stuff from her car and store it in the shop for the time being. Back up in the apartment, she sorted through some of her things and had a cup of coffee while Bellamy finished working. She had pulled out one the sketchbooks from her box of notebooks and pens and pencils when she heard the keys jangling in the door.

“Bell, I made chicken pot-...” The petite girl with olive skin and dark eyes stop in her tracks, “You’re definitely not my brother.”

“That would be a correct assumption,” Clarke stood up to face her.

She could feel eyes on her as the dark-haired girl tried to read the situation.

_Well, she wouldn't be wrong to assume I’m the girl that just hooked up with her brother._

At that same moment, Bellamy walked in to see the two of them facing off in his living room.

“Whoa, stand down there, O,” Bellamy stood behind his sister and grabbed a hold of her shoulders, “Octavia, this is Clarke. Clarke, Octavia.”

Clarke smiled and made a small waving gesture towards the still unsure girl.

“Clarke is from way out of town and her car broke down late last night in the rain. I invited her to stay, and the boys and I were taking a look at her car this morning.”

“I bet Jasper got a kick out of you letting a girl stay in your apartment.”

“Jasper gets a kick out of cartoon flatulence.”

Clarke cleared her throat, “I really didn't mean to impose, I can get out of your hair.”

“No, no, no.” Octavia disregarded, “Don’t be silly, you should stay. I made Bellamy some chicken pot pie, and there is more than enough to go around.”

The trio found themselves all at the table together, Octavia chatting Clarke up while Bellamy just sat eating his dinner. He tried not to think about the fact that his baby sister and the girl he had just slept with (and that was supposed to be gone by now) were sitting, hanging out and chatting about everything.

“Clarke, where are you from?”

“Maryland.”

“What do you do?” Octavia took to the offensive, eyes slitting in appraisal.

“Apparently break down in the middle of Georgia - both physically and emotionally.”

Bellamy hid a small smile, at least she was in good spirits about her mess.

“And why are you here?”

“... My car broke down.”

“Well, duh. I mean, why leave? Why drive all the way to Georgia?”

Clarke tensed up a little, “Well, Georgia wasn't really the plan. Actually… I didn't really have a plan. Stuff happened, I packed my car and I left. I just had to get out of my situation.”

“What kind of stuff?”

Bellamy interjected before Clarke had a chance to answer. “Octavia, do you mind grabbing the ice cream from the freezer down in the shop?”

“But -” Octavia protested.

“O, please.” Bellamy interjected sternly.

Octavia got up from the table, dramatically chewing the bite of food she had scooped up.

Bellamy watched her leave the apartment and turned back to Clarke.

“I’m really sorry about O, she doesn't really do privacy very well. Something about being sent off to boarding school for too many years, strict teachers and harsh punishments and all that. She can be a pain in the ass.”

“She’s sweet. I can see why you’re protective over her though, she is quite the spitfire.”

“And boy does she never let me forget it.” Bellamy laughed.

Clarke picked up her plate to head to the sink, nearly tripping over Bellamy in the process.

“Oh god, sorry.” She said.

“Hey, listen.” Bellamy said, as his hand brushed her arm in their kitchen dance. “You’re more than welcome to stay as long as you need. I know we were both kind of expecting to just move with our lives this morning after what happened last night. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable or anything.”

Clarke tilted her head just slightly, “No worries - Who we are and who we needed each other to be last night are very different things.” She smiled shortly before turning her eyes anywhere **but** the _extremely_ attractive man in front of her.

“Really, Bell, vanilla? You’re so boring.” Octavia came dancing back through the door, “You know Clarke, if you need a place to stay, my roommate is gone for a few weeks on a Habitat for Humanities program. Probably better than Bell’s musty old couches. And oh my god, did he make you clean up after yourself?” Octavia said pointedly towards the neatly folded blankets on the couch.

Bellamy’s eyes were wide.

“You are a guest here, don’t let my idiot brother make you feel otherwise.”

“... _Oh_ , he didn't.” Clarke tried to hide her amusement at Octavia’s simple oblivion.

“Bell, your apartment is just too small to be harboring a fugitive. Clarke, you need somewhere where you can drink wine, dance around in your underwear, and cook real food. I mean, honestly Bell, would it _kill_ you to get a decent set of knives, or even pots and pans, for that matter. How would you survive without me?”

Bellamy rolled his eyes, “But then you wouldn't be coming around here nagging my ear off twice a week. Come to think of it… that sounds like a great idea!”

Octavia threw her crumpled up napkin at her brother, who batted it away effortlessly. Bellamy had a silly grin plastered on his face as he shoved another spoonful of vanilla ice cream into his mouth.

“That sounds great, Octavia,” _since she still didn't really know where she stood after last night_ , “I’m hoping it’s only a few days until my car is up and running and I can get out of your hair.

Bellamy felt a pang of sadness in his stomach. _Wait, what?_ He stopped himself. _What the hell, dude, you barely know her… it’s not a big deal, right?_

“Yo, Earth to Blake,” Octavia snapped her fingers, “Get your head out of the clouds.”

Bellamy gave Octavia an incredulous look, but she just shrugged and kept on talking.

“Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing, you let Bellamy take care of your car. You just need  to enjoy all that our small Georgian oasis has to offer!”

The three of them sat eating their ice cream, Octavia chatting away about the upcoming Summer Solstice Festival and all the preparations she needed to do. Clarke and Bellamy sneaking small glances at each other when they thought the other wasn't looking.

“Well, sorry to end the party ladies, but there’s only a few hours of daylight left and I've got some things I need to take care of.”

Octavia rolled her eyes as she took Clarke’s dishes to the sink, singing the theme song from ‘Full House’. Clarke took the time to gather up the few items she had left in the bathroom and the pens she had scattered on the coffee table. She wondered what mystery boy had to do that was so important on a Monday night.

“Octavia, try not to talk Clarke’s ear off, please. She’s been subjected to enough torment with her car breaking down.”

“Aha,” Octavia laughed sarcastically, giving her brother a mocking smile as she threw the soapy sponge she was working with at him.

After cleanup, Bellamy helped Clarke load her stuff into Octavia’s car and he hopped in his own truck, speeding off in the opposite direction.

“Where was he headed off to in such a hurry?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Every night after work he just kind of disappears to ‘work on things’ … I have no idea, really.”

Clarke leaned her forehead against the window as she watched the pastures fly by.

Octavia lived on the outskirts of the small town in an old warehouse-turned-housing complex. Inside there were high ceilings and colorful paintings scattered in an artistic arrangement on the walls.

“Did you do these?”

“Oh, god no.” Octavia was shaking her head, “My roommate, Anya, has a really artistic design-sense. I’m shit at it, really. My idea of decoration is cat knick-knacks and Christmas lights hanging above my bed.”

Clarke really did like Octavia. While she may have a lack of ‘personal privacy’, as Clarke got another first-hand look at when Octavia walked in on Clarke showering with not even a qualm about it, she admired her free-spirit.

The first couple of days were okay. Clarke spent most of her time wandering around the sleepy town of Ark and carrying her sketchbook. It was a fairly simple routine. Get up, get coffee and chat with Monroe, find a quiet place to sketch, eat a quick lunch at the diner, finish her sketches, come back to Octavia’s for dinner.

But by the fourth day, she was getting a little restless. She had stopped by the shop each afternoon to check on the status of the Camry. Four times she had stopped, and four times Bellamy had to give her the news she didn't want - still no part.

She enjoyed the small interactions she had with Bellamy, but every night after he finished working, he’d disappear down the highway away from the center of town, and he’d stay out until after Octavia and Clarke had done dinner. That evening Clarke had come back to Octavia’s to find her in a whirlwind.

“Oh my god, Clarke. I am so sorry, I’m on my way out to meet my boyfriend.” Octavia stopped in her tracks, “OH GOD, you cannot tell Bell I have a boyfriend. He would absolutely _die_. Lincoln is older, and oh my god, oh my god. Don’t tell him, please!”

Clarke was standing there with unwanted responsibility, “Octavia, it’s none of my business who you fraternize with. But I _promise_ , if it means that much to you.”

Octavia let out a sort of squeak, “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I owe you, I’m sorry I don’t have anymore more food in the house. I didn't have time to go grocery shopping with all the Solstice planning going on. Roma was totally on the committee for decorations and she completely bailed. Something about breaking her ankle on a fox trap, now she’s in ‘recovery’...”

“Octavia, you’re rambling now.”

“Right. Anyways... my brain is just completely all over the place because I have taken on all her responsibilities and the Solstice celebration is just a few weeks away.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll fend for myself. Have a nice night out.”

Octavia was a flurry of glittery heels and long brown hair as Clarke stood there shaking her head with a smile on her face. Clarke headed out, realizing tonight might be an incredible night to try and sketch the sunset. She walked into town to grab some takeout and find an elevated spot with a view of the horizon.

Clarke fumbled with something in her purse, which caused her to lose her grip on the bag and send its contents spilling on the sidewalk. Straight out of a cartoon, Clarke tumbled forward from the river of pens beneath her feet straight into a pillar. _Nope, not a pillar._ Straight into none other than the elusive Bellamy Blake, bearer of bad news. _God. His chiseled features could rival those of any Greek god._

“Argh,” Clarke fumbling with her mass quantities of pens and pencils, barely realizing that she had knocked the take-out bags from Bellamy’s hand onto the ground, _“Oh god.”_

“Not usually the situation when I’d want a girl moaning _oh god_ at me.” Bellamy smirked.

Clark blushed but brushed off the remark, “Well, to think I was going to apologize.”

They both bent down to clean up the mess of two Chinese takeout containers and what seemed like an entire art classroom on the sidewalk below them. Clarke dropped first, hand reaching instinctively to gather the pencils. She bit her lip as she tried to ignore the heat radiating from how close Bellamy had come - his face inches from hers. Bellamy was watching Clarke’s “focus” with such amusement, that he didn't notice her hand as he absentmindedly reached for the pencil by his foot. It was fleeting, but the brush of their hands against each other set a small wave of electricity abuzz between them.

They hadn't had a moment alone in almost five days. It was either the boys at the shop (it was difficult to ignore goggle-boy and his trusty sidekick when they were busy re-creating “magical, romantic moments” with spark plugs as a bouquet of flowers and a seat cover as a veil) or Octavia (who did nothing but talk at a million miles an hour about everything from the Summer Solstice Festival to the rerun of House Hunters International she saw earlier that day) and there hadn't been any touching.

Bellamy retracted his hand quickly and moved to pick up what was left in the takeout bag while Clarke stuffed the pens back into her purse. Both of them returned to their feet and Bellamy had to force his eyes from her lips that she was still biting back nervously.

“Ah, but who am I to stand in your way of the glorious Wok Palace, princess, your kingdom awaits!” He made a swooping gesture towards the entrance of the restaurant.

“God,” she was trying not to smile while shaking her head. “Can I at least buy you a replacement dinner?”

She pointed at the sidewalk before them, splattered egg rolls creating a colorful picture on the concrete. There was a much lighter bearing to their conversation than that first night. Clarke didn't feel like a complete mess and Bellamy had more arrogant, nonchalant manner about him.

Bellamy stood there mockingly pensive.

“Oh, alright, but only if I get to buy you a drink,” he finally agreed.

“Seems like a fair trade,” Clarke grinned.

They waited for their food, mindlessly chatting about chow mein versus fried rice, and how many egg rolls are too many for one person to eat.

(Bellamy seemed to think that eight egg rolls for one person was perfectly normal.)

Clarke agreed to replace all eight egg rolls, but only if she got to eat her three. Bellamy laughed, “You got it, princess.”

They sat in a booth (apparently both forgetting they had come for takeaway) in the corner of the dimly lit restaurant.

Clarke noticed the time, she only had a little while before she would miss the window to sketch the beautiful pink-orange sky, “Do you know a good place to watch the sunset?”

Bellamy thought for a moment, then his mouth turned upward into a grin, “I think I know of a place, c’mon.”

Bellamy scooted out of the both, pulling Clarke, who still had a mouth full of fried rice, with him.

“Egg rolls!” She mustered, and Bellamy grabbed the bag with the remaining egg rolls and urged Clarke to follow him.

The next thing she knew, Clarke was sitting in the front seat of that rusted red pick-up truck again, windows rolled down and fingers idly dancing like a wave in the wind. Bellamy had one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on the open window ledge. He caught himself stealing more than one glance, not knowing that every time he looked back to the road she turned to check him out in return.

Bellamy pulled off the highway a few minutes later onto a dirt road that led into the woods.

“I don’t think the woods are an appropriate place to watch the sunset.”

Bellamy smiled knowingly, “Just wait.”

They pulled into a clearing that opened up to a large body of water, the forest peeling off to reveal the most incredible landscape. And just on the shore was what looked like the skeleton of a home. They stopped just short of the house and Bellamy shut off the engine.

Clarke lowered herself out of truck, eyes darting everywhere from the trees, to the shore, to the house, to the horizon.

“Oh my god, what is this place?”

“This is ‘the Bunker’... I guess you could call it my safe place?” He said, almost as if it were a question.

He nodded in the direction of the shore, “Follow me.”

He led her to a spot just around the bend with a fallen tree trunk, down the shore from the house, that had the most insane view of the sun setting on the horizon of the lake. Clarke had a hard time containing the excitement on her face, almost like a puppy dog, and she dug into her purse to get her sketchbook and her assortment of pens and set out.

Bellamy was sitting with his back against the log, drinking the beer he had grabbed from the cooler in the bed of his truck while Clarke sat on the other end of the log. Brow creased in concentration, she managed to look both completely at ease and completely driven by focus at the same time.

As the sun was finally disappearing below the horizon and the warmth began to fade, they sat there listening to the crickets chirping and the small waves lapping against the sand.  Clarke had been finished with her sketch for a short while, her sketchbook and instruments lying next to her; she was sitting with her knees drawn to her chest and her chin resting on top of them.

She turned to Bellamy, now resting her cheek on her knee to look at him lazily, “So is this where you disappear to every night?”

Bashfully, Bellamy looked at the stones he was playing with in his hands.

“Yeah.”

“Dude, you’re building… a house?!”

He shrugged, “Someone said something to me recently: ‘You know Bellamy, I always thought you would graduate high school, get married and have babies just like the rest of us.’”

“If that’s your ‘woman’ voice, it totally needs work.”

“Oh, shut up. I just sat there thinking, I had never seen myself as the guy that graduated high school, got married and had a bunch of babies and stayed content to live in a small town, working a small town mechanics job. When I saw chance to get out, with the Army, I took it. Nobody really every expects you leave, but when you come back… they take it as a sign that you did your adventuring and you’re content with settling back into your old way and lifestyle. I didn't want to be that guy.”

“So the house is what.. exactly?” Clarke questioned.

“My dad taught me all about cars from a young age, but he also taught me about using my hands for lots of things. I helped him build the massive tree house in our backyard, and the dining room table set we gave to my grandparents for Christmas. I decided I wanted to do more with my hands than fix broken down hunks of junk, no offense, in small town Ark, Georgia.”

“So, you build your dream home, then what?”

“I’d like to start my own company with a small team, and build custom homes. Jasper is one of the best electricians around and Monty is amazing with logistics, and they are both on board. I do most of the design work and manual labor myself.”

Bellamy threw the stone in his hand at the water.

“Incredible. So what’s the master plan for this one?”

“Want to see?” Bellamy stood up, brushing his hands on his pants, then holding one out for her.

Clarke smiled and threaded her fingers through his, _stupid tingly sensation._

“Let me get some light going here,” he said pulling her up from her spot in front of the log. He headed over to his truck, disentangling his fingers from hers and pulling out his keys.

Clarke felt the absence of his calloused palm, but grabbed her bag to follow behind, _it wasn't a bad view after all._ She dropped the bag through the open window on the passengers side while Bellamy turned on the headlights to illuminate the wooden structure in front of them.

Bellamy had shoved his hands into his pocket as he stepped up onto the foundation, trying to ignore the fact that the nerves on his fingers were on fire.

“So, obviously here would be the front steps of the house,” he gestured to the steps, eyeing Clarke nervously. “Which would lead up onto the porch, which would wrap around to the back of the house, opening up towards the lake.”

He took a dramatic step through a doorway, sweeping his arms like a tour guide, “And if you’ll follow me through the main entrance you’ll find an open concept living and dining area.”

Clarke could see the light spark in his eyes as he left the joking manner, and the tension fled his body as the plan began to unfold before him.

He pointed to the far wall, “I want to have a fireplace over here-- I’ll hand lay the flagstone for the hearth, of course-- but I want to offset it with a dark-stained wooden mantel. My grandparents left me the dining room set my dad and I had made, so that’ll go over there under a low hanging chandelier. Just through here...” he walked away from Clarke excitedly and she tried to follow closely, “... will be the kitchen, marble counter tops-- cherry cabinets will line that wall over there-- obviously we’ll do crown molding.”

His thoughts were non-linear. One minute he was talking about paint colors, then next he was rattling off some technical things Monty had come up with to make the house more environmentally friendly.

“Obviously, we don’t have a floor up there yet, but right above us here will be the master bed and bathroom. I want to have the bed facing the sliding glass doors that lead out to the terrace overlooking…”

Clarke had stopped following Bellamy, feet mindlessly scuffing to a halt next to a supporting beam as she stared up at the unfinished rafters in complete awe.

“You did all of this by yourself?” she said, unintentionally interrupting him mid-thought.

“Well… yeah,” he said, suddenly very aware of himself, bringing his hand up to drag over the back of his neck anxiously.

He was almost out breathe as he watched her do a slow 180-degree turn, taking in the rest of the house.

“Bellamy, this is actually kind of amazing. You know that right?”

A clap of thunder hit at the same moment, snapping both of them back to reality as the lights on the truck suddenly shut off.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Bellamy ran for the truck, trying to avoid the piles of lumber on the porch. He tried turning the keys, hearing only the clicking of a dead battery. He kicked his heel into the tire.

 _“I killed the truck.”_ He said in barely more than a frustrated whisper, just loud enough for himself to hear.

“What’s the problem?” Clarke asked narrowly missing a stump protruding from the ground as she followed from the house.

“The battery is dead. Oh, and FYI, there’s no cell service out here.”

“Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“Wish I was.”

“You did not just strand us out here you adorable idiot.” Clarke deadpanned.

The full moon was their only source of light, forcing them to stand just inches apart in order to see each other -- but even that was being quickly obscured by the dense rain clouds rolling in above them.

“You think I’m adorable?”

“I think you missed the idiot part.”

Clarke could make out the freckles on his face, and she was moving to trace her thumb across his cheek when a giant rain drop landed on his nose.

Clarke felt a drop too, and a second later it was like the sky opened up and the rain just dumped out on them.  

Bellamy pulled a blanket from the truck bed and threw it through the driver’s seat door, “Get in!” he shouted over the storm, shielding his own face from the rain with his forearm.

Clarke scrambled up into the seat, scooting all the way over to the passengers side, and Bellamy hopped in after her. They had both narrowly escaped getting completely drenched by the downpour, but that didn’t stop Clarke from shivering from the damp, cool air.

“I guess we’ll have to wait the storm out, might as well get comfortable,” he unfolded the blanket and laid it over Clarke’s shoulders.

“Bummer, what will Octavia think when I don’t come home tonight?” Clarke replied with amusement.

“My guess is she’s not coming home tonight either. It’s Friday, right? She usually makes up some excuse so she can sneak off with that boyfriend of hers.”

“You know about him?”

“I’m not an idiot, Clarke.”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’m not an idiot, _most of the time._ I’m trying this new thing where I don’t act like the completely overbearing parent. But if that boyfriend does even one thing to hurt her…” A slight bout of anger lit up Bellamy’s eyes, but he shook his head, trying to relax.

Clarke was attempting (unsuccessfully) to get comfortable against the passenger door, her neck pushing against the metal frame at an awkward angle. Bellamy watched her intently, trying not to laugh at her twisting and turning.

_That can’t be comfortable._

“Don’t be ridiculous, Clarke, you can lean against me. You’ll sleep much better -- and this way, I won’t have to massage knots out of your neck in the morning.” He stretched his arm out in invitation.

Clarke smiled as she readjusted to fit against his side, heat radiating off of him, “Well, maybe that’s just what I wanted from you in the morning anyways.”

For the first time since the storm began, he was glad it was dark so she couldn't see him smiling _like an idiot._

 


	4. a date date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like a little caffeine in the morning to get your blood pumping-- recovering from last night's storm, they find themselves left wanting more.

She woke up first. Her head was resting on his thigh and she felt the weight of his arm curled around her upper chest. Looking up, she saw that his head was leaning against the car door at an impossible angle. She kept her position for just a moment, knowing that in only a few minutes the warm hum sparked by her body touching his would be gone.

“Hey,” he whispered, lifting his head from the door with a yawn.

Clarke smiled, rolling onto her side to fold herself into him. “Five more minutes, Mom.”

Bellamy felt a tug of delight that pooled in his stomach. Their bodies fit together like an odd jigsaw puzzle, and he was comfortable despite the nagging pain from leaning at an uncomfortable angle against the window. He could feel her breath warm against his side and suddenly he was bitter that daylight had arrived.

He gently moved the hair that was obstructing her face and she looked up at him in earnest, eyes tinged with sadness. He watched her uncurl, flexing the muscles in her whole body right down to her toes, which popped with a sharp crack. She sat up, slumped to the side in protest, a distinctive grump screwing up her features.

He let out a soft chuckle and then looked at his watch, “It’s almost six. I’m going to walk a few miles up the road--try to get some cell service and call Jasper. You up for it?” he asked, glancing at her hopefully.

“Actually, I’d love to get a different perspective of this shoreline. It would be a crime to not get another sketch in before I leave. I can wait here for you guys to get back.”

Bellamy tried to hide his disappointment as he got out of the truck. He wandered around to meet her at the passenger door, opening it and helping her down.

“Princess.”

“Ah, kind sir!” Clarke laughed and made a overly dramatic curtsey at Bellamy, who just shook his head. They stood there for a moment, Bellamy not quite wanting to leave.

“You _sure_ you’ll be okay out here?” he said with a tiny bit of optimism.

Clarke felt a little flush. “Yeah, of course. Nothing a city girl like me can’t handle.”

“Because I can hang around and--” Bellamy was shut up by the pressure of Clark’s lips on his. For a brief moment, his brain shut off, barely having time to close his eyes before she pulled away.

“What was that?” Bellamy asked, breathless with raised eyebrows.

“I just really wanted to do that before we go back to reality.” She smiled up at him, her eyes matching the water sparkling just behind them -- a bright blue he just got lost in every time they met his.

Bellamy ran his fingers through his hair and a small smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. He had to force himself to breathe normally.

“I’ll, uh, be back soon, okay?” he said as he took a few steps backwards before reluctantly turning away from the blonde in front of him. Chancing a peek over his shoulder, he saw her walking in the opposite direction, toward the shore. He brushed his fingers along his lips where hers had been just moments before, still prickled with a warm sensation. Bellamy returned his gaze forward and shoved his hands in his pockets to begin the early morning trek to _reality._

He strode along the highway with his cell phone in hand, kicking rocks and scaring deer back into their hiding spots between the trees. There was a lot of water puddled on the road in potholes after last nights downpour, and every once in a while Bellamy would catch a glimpse of his reflection -- a dumb smile pinching at his cheeks.  

The sky was still a bit hazy, and the sun was trying to poke its way through the remaining clouds as it rose higher in the sky. The walk was somewhat therapeutic; it was a way for him to clear his head after the events that had transpired. Half an hour passed before he actually got a signal on his phone and he could dial Jasper’s number.

It rang three times before the irritated mechanic picked up the line.

“Bellamy Luanne Blake--” he groaned into the phone, sleep still heavy in his voice.

“That’s not my middle name.”

“You’d better have a good goddamn reason as to why you’re calling me before 7 AM on a Saturday.”

“Well, I stalled the battery on the truck last night out at the house -- right before the storm hit. We were stuck out there all night with no cell service, so I had to wait until this morning to walk down the road a ways to find a signal.”

“We?” Jasper inquired.

“Yeah, uh, Clarke was with me.”

You could almost hear the eyeballs popping out of Jaspers head.

“Dude, what?”

Bellamy recounted the evening to Jasper, from running into her at Wok Palace to bringing her out to the house. Although, he did leave out the part where she kissed him. He didn’t think that was something Jasper _needed_ to know.

“... So can you come jump the truck?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I’m at mile-marker 13.”

Fifteen minutes later, Jasper rolled up in his jeep and Bellamy climbed in. A smug grin tugged at his lips as he nodded at Bellamy, silent amusement tainting the air around them.

“Just drive the damn car, Jas.”

“Well, I brought you guys coffee, but if you’re going to be rude about it…”

Bellamy eyed the drink holder in between them and grabbed the two meant for Clarke and himself.

Bellamy rolled his eyes, but smiled. “Thanks, I owe you big time.”

“Yeah, you do.”

They drove just a short while, Jasper rattling on about something unimportant. Bellamy couldn’t quite remember what it was. His part of the conversation was mostly chiming in with a properly timed “Yeah” or “Uh-huh.” He was too distracted by what Clarke had said. _Reality? Reality was autoshop grease stains and Octavia talking about Summer Solstice non-stop. Reality sucked._

Clarke was sitting on the log where, less than 12 hours before, they had been lounging and enjoying the sunset. She heard the jeep pull up and gathered her things while the boys prepared the truck to be jumped.

“Welcome home, sailor.” Clarke jokingly saluted Bellamy.

He chuckled, holding the hot cup out towards her. “Coffee?” he offered.

She took it earnestly. “Hi!” she called out to Jasper, whose head was already engulfed under the hood of the truck. She continued, undeterred by the lack of eye contact, “I don’t know that we’ve officially met. I’m Clarke.”

Jasper dropped the cables and wiped his hands on his pant before sauntering over to take Clarke’s hand. He placed a dramatic kiss on it before speaking. “Clarke, my princess, it’s lovely to meet you. I am Jasper, Bellamy’s loyal steed--”

“Or court joker, whichever you prefer,” Bellamy interjected.

Jasper shot him a look before returning his attention to the trucks. Clarke leaned against the tailgate while Jasper and Bellamy finished connecting the batteries. Everything was set to go, so Jasper hopped into his jeep, starting it up and revving the engine a bit to help with the charge.

Bellamy walked over to Clarke, who was still leaning on the tail end of the truck, and rested his hand a few inches from her shoulders. “So… come here often?”

Clarke went into a small fit of giggles. “Actually, yes, I make it a habit of getting involved with vehicles that just can’t _go the distance.”_

Bellamy shook his head with both first and second hand embarrassment from their conversation, but he couldn't help it but laugh right along with her.

“Alright, start ‘er up, Blake,” Jasper called out. Bellamy swung a leg into the cab, turning the key to the ignition. The truck rumbled to life and Jasper clapped his hands together victoriously.

Bellamy got out of the now purring truck and stuck his hand out to shake Jasper’s. “Thanks, man.”

“Yeah, I’ll remember that next time I have an emergency first thing on a Saturday morning,” he said with a grin. “See you guys back in town.” With a wave, he hopped back into the jeep, leaving a small cloud of dust behind him as he pulled away.

“Alright, let’s get moving then,” Clarke said as she made a move toward the passenger door. She felt a strong tug on her wrist, and Bellamy spun her to face him. Her eyes were wide with fascination.

_What was this girl doing to him?_

Bellamy tried to steady his breath. “Who says we can’t actually do that back in reality?”

“W-what?” Clarke managed to stammer.

Bellamy’s hands went to her face as he crashed their lips together. She tasted like coffee, coursing through him like caffeine in his blood. Her fingers clutched at the fabric of his shirt, wrenching him in closer. He felt his heart rate quicken as he pressed his body into her, backing her up to the truck. Her hands had slid up behind his neck and into his hair, tangling in the dark locks.

Bodies pressing against each other, both of them fought for air but refused to disengage. Their hands struggled to find purchase, losing all sense of decorum as they explored one another.

The long moment seemed entirely too short when they finally both broke apart, chests heavy with the air they could finally take in.

“I have been wanting to do that all week,” Bellamy said breathlessly.

“Uh-huh.” Clarke managed to nod in reply.

They stood with faces just inches apart, and Clarke’s hands were fisted in Bellamy’s shirt again. She realized the grip she still had on him, slowly releasing the wrinkled fabric and patting down the creases she had created.

Bellamy brought his hands back up to Clarke’s face, slowly encouraging her to look him in the eyes.

“How would you feel about a date?”

“Like, a _date_ -date?”

“Like a date-date.”

Clarke was silent, eyes sweeping from side to side in quick bursts as she wracked her brain.

_What happens when your car is fixed? What happens when it’s time to move on? Why would you get involved with someone you hardly know?_

“Yes.”

Her heart and her brain were clearly not on the same page. Or maybe it was her… body... that was on another page.

Bellamy tried, and failed, to hide the smile spreading across his face.

“Okay… okay, cool, okay.” Bellamy was nodding as he spun on his heels to return to the drivers side of the cab. Clarke was blushing, and she took a second to compose herself before climbing into the truck. She sat a little closer to the drivers spot this time, one of the perks of an old truck -- front bench seating. Bellamy splayed his right arm across the back of the seat, just barely playing with the hair below her ear.

+

Back at Octavia’s, Clarke rummaged through her bag while her mind ran at 100 miles per hour. Bellamy had walked her to the door when he dropped her off, giving her a reluctant kiss on the cheek.

Neither one of them quite knew what the protocol for this kind of thing was.

She wasn't prepared for this. What do you wear on a “first” date? _God, was it technically even a first date since they had already slept together?_ It had been so long since the last time she actually “dated.” With her last relationship, they had been together long enough that routine had set in, the initial excitement had died down, and domesticity had become the norm.

She was slightly caught off guard, snapping to attention when she heard keys jingling at the door soon before Octavia came waltzing in with a bag of groceries.

“Guess who has food for dinner toniiiiight,” she let out in a sing-song voice. “Also, where were you this morning? You were gone when I got up.”

“Oh?” Clarke didn’t fail to notice that Octavia was wearing the same outfit she had left in the previous evening. “Or do you mean when _you_ got home this morning?”

Octavia scrunched her nose up in a defeat, laughing. “You caught me. I stayed out all night, but that still doesn't answer my question as to why you weren't here at 7 AM.”

Clarke averted her eyes and bit her lip, focusing on Anya’s painting just above the small cabinet of board games and blankets on the wall.  “I may or may not have been out all night, too…” she took a breath before continuing, “with your brother.”

Octavia couldn't stop her mouth from opening slightly from Clarke’s admission.

“You. My brother. You and my brother. _Oh my god._ ” Realization dawning on her, her tone went up an octave. “How was I blind to _that?_ The couch wasn't slept on -- the weird tension that first night. Oh my GOD. You’re sleeping with my brother!?”

“No! Well, not technically-- not last night! We just got caught out in the storm last night, and the truck wouldn't start.” She didn’t mention the house; she felt like that was Bellamy’s secret -- a place he needed for himself for a while -- _one he had shared with her._

“Not… technically?” She could see the gears turning in Octavia’s head. “Oh, OH. The first night? God, I knew something was weird. I’m, like… never that oblivious, but _oh my god_. Oh my god. I don’t EVER want to think about my brother having sex, and right now it’s fucking consuming my brain. I mean, you’re so great and lovely and of course my brother has that weird, mysterious, dark thing going on and--”

“Octavia!” Clarke broke in. “Slow. Down.”

Octavia shut her mouth, lips pursed in a comical pout.

“He wants to take me out on a date? What do I do? What do I _wear_?” Clark threw her arms up in defeat and sat down on the couch.

Octavia’s pout slowly turned upward, and it was replaced by a sly grin (that slightly scared Clarke, if she was being honest). “Now if there is one thing I’m _good_ at, it’s getting dressed up,” she said, stepping closer to the helpless blonde on the couch. “Show me your clothes.”

Clarke looked skeptical, but somehow she trusted that Octavia knew what she was doing. They went back to Anya’s room, and Clarke plopped down onto the bed as Octavia began rifling through the box of clothes Clarke had been living out of for the past week. She occasionally pulled something out of the box to hold up to Clarke, then, making a face, she’d put it back.

It had happened four times.

Finally, Octavia stopped and studied Clarke for a minute, “Okay, I think I have something that _might_ work.” And with that, she dashed out of the room and across the hall into her own. Clarke remained stoic but anxious as she waited for her free-spirited friend to return.

Octavia skipped back into view and threw a wad of clothing at her. “Put this on,” she commanded.

She stared at the dress in her hands. Octavia wasn't that much smaller than her, but Clarke definitely had more curves.

“Octavia, I don’t know if this is going to fit.”

“Put. It. On.”

Clarke stood there awkwardly before shimmying out of the shorts and t-shirt she was wearing and pulling the dress on over her head. It fit, but it clung to Clarke, accentuating each dip and plane of her feminine body.

“Hot. Hot. HOT!” Octavia clapped with joy. “You look hot,” she determined, eyeing Clarke from head to toe.

Clarke stared down at the scarlet dress. It hit her a few inches above the knee and it had a semi-plunging v-neck that allowed the girls to make an appearance. Oddly enough, Clarke felt good, she felt confident. Most of the time, dressing up to her meant wearing black and actually putting on makeup.

“Okay, so here’s the plan Clarke. You and I are going to go out to lunch and get mani-pedis, and then I am going to bring you back here and complete _the look_ \-- then you are going out with my brother looking like a babe and you’re going to like it.” The finality of her tone let Clarke know that this aspect of the evening was not up for debate.

Something about Octavia brought out a more adventurous side of her. “Okay. Deal. But, let me pay, okay? I've been staying in your house letting you feed me and take care of me, and you've just been so great.”

Octavia was grinning from ear to ear now. “Perfect,” she beamed.

+

Bellamy pulled into the auto shop parking lot about fifteen minutes after dropping Clarke off at Octavia’s place.

_A date-date? What the hell did he know about dates?_

Jasper and Monty weren't at the shop yet. They normally opened later on Saturdays, so he had a few moments alone. He busied himself with the car parked in the first garage spot. The spark plug cylinders were misfiring, which was a relatively easy repair. He hadn't realized he was repeating the same motion over and over again until he heard the distinctive sound of the garage door opening.

Looking up he saw Monty strutting in, popping almonds into his mouth as he walked. “Morning, stud-muffin.”

“Oh god, shut up,” Bellamy groaned.

“I hear you had quite the night,” Monty teased, picking up a small jack to get started on the car in spot number three.

“Nothing happened-- nothing… well okay, something kind of happened.”

At that moment Jasper waltzed in. “You told me you just got stuck out there! What the hell happened?”

Bellamy wiped his hands on a rag and threw it at Jasper. “She kissed me, right before I left to find cell service, and said, ‘I just wanted to do that before we go back to reality’ or something.”

“Oh, home girl's got game,” Monty laughed.

“Well, then after you left from jumping the truck, I may have kissed her again. Not just like, a kiss, but, like, a _kiss_ kiss…” He sighed, memories from the morning washing over him. “And then I may have asked her out on a date,” he added hurriedly.

The was a loud clang as Monty dropped the jack on the floor of the shop.

“Dude, when was the last time you went on a date?” Jasper asked.

“Who is this girl, and where do I sign up to thank her?” Monty said, reaching down to pick up the fallen tool.

“Thank her? Guys, I’m not a hermit!” Bellamy exclaimed. But as he thought about it, he realized he hadn't had a date since before his second deployment, and, even now, he mostly just left the apartment to work on the house and to get takeout. “ _Shit._ What do I do?” His shoulders slumped and his eyes were wide with worry.

Monty and Jasper converged on the car that Bellamy was working on.

“Take her to mini-golf!” Monty suggested.

“A restaurant in Concord where no one can recognize you?”

“Jasper, this is no time to quote Legally Blonde.” Monty shot him a look.

“The diner has been experimenting with new pie flavors?” Jasper offered.

“I know a good place in Mount Weather-- makes the best steak you've ever tasted.” Monty

“That’s a bold faced lie, Monty. You know _I_ made the best steak you've ever tasted.” Bellamy countered.

“Take her to Cabo!” Jasper submitted.

“Take her on a scavenger hunt?”

“Basket-weaving! Crash a wedding!”

“Scuba diving! White water rafting!”

“Ballroom dancing, skydiving, uh, go feed stingrays at an aquarium,” Jasper rattled off. “Horseback riding on the beach!”

“Guys!” Bellamy said forcefully. “The date is tonight! Simplify.”

Jasper pouted. “Fine, but I want you to know you’re severely stifling my creative juices, Bellamy _Louise_ \--”

“That’s not my middle name.”

“Well, I know, why don’t you just take her to the gun range. That way, if she ends up hating it... she can just shoot you.” Jasper resigned.

Bellamy slowly closed his eyes in silent aggravation, grimacing slightly.

He sighed, lips ticking upward, when something about Jaspers final suggestion reminded him of another option. “Jas, you know I don’t do gun ranges, but you may have just given me an idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was meant to be much longer, but it started to get out of control so I had to split it into two. I promise the next chapter will be here soon!
> 
> leave me some love if you enjoyed it :)


	5. the date date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First date? Who the hell knows how to go on a first date?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahaha, I don't know who I am anymore.
> 
> I am going to Spain for 4 days, so the next update will be a while, so hopefully this will hold you over.

“Hold still, Clarke!” Octavia muttered through the eye liner pen she was holding between her teeth. She was attempting a smoky eye, but Clarke kept twitching, which made achieving an even application nigh impossible.

They had spent the afternoon in a whirlwind of pampering and preparing, the last 45 minutes of which had consisted of wrangling Clarke’s hair into an ornate braid and applying more make-up than she’d ever put on her face before.

“Almost… and, done!’ Octavia stepped back to admire her work and Clarke stood up from the stool she was perched on to get a better look in the mirror. Clarke had to admit, Octavia had done a hell of a job. The red dress, the hair, the makeup-- all of it honestly made her feel more confident, beautiful even.

The buzzer rang and Octavia wiggled her eyebrows at Clarke. “It’s time,” she said and skipped off to answer the door.

Bellamy stood in the doorframe, his sweeping stature casting a long shadow into the apartment. “Hey, O, I’m here for Clarke.” He coughed nervously.

“Oh, I’m sorry, there’s no one here by that name.”

“Octavia, just let me--”

Clarke came around the corner and he felt as if all the oxygen has been sucked from the room. His mouth dropped open slightly as his whole body came alive with electricity and he took a step forward into the apartment.

Octavia looked from Bellamy to Clarke, and back to Bellamy again. “Oookay, I think that’s my cue.” She fluttered from the room, smacking Clarke’s backside in a ‘good-game’ gesture on her way out.

Bellamy’s gaze was glued to Clarke’s body, admiring her outfit and they way it cascaded down her curves. He finally dragged his eyes to meet hers when she (not so) subtly cleared her throat.

“Hi.”

“Hi, yourself.” She smiled back.

“You look… fantastic.”

“You can thank you sister for that.” Clarke fidgeted slightly, adjusting the hem of the dress.

“I might have to,” he grinned. “You ready?”

Clarke let out a small breath. “Let’s do it.” She headed towards the door and Bellamy’s hand slid into place at the small of her back, leading her out.

Not a single cloud marred the inky black of the night sky; they weren’t worried about a storm catching them this time. _But would that really be so bad?_ Bellamy opened the passenger door for Clarke, holding onto her as she climbed into the truck and took her seat. He tried not to let his eyes linger too long on her hemline, which crept up dangerously high during transport.

He shut the door behind him and slid in on the drivers side, grinning when he noticed that Clarke had taken her spot near the middle of the bench where she’d be closer to him.

“So, what’s on the agenda for tonight?” Clarke asked.

Bellamy comically narrowed his eyes. “Oh, it’s a secret. If I tell you, I’d have to kill you.”

They sat in a comfortable silence for awhile. Bellamy’s hand had found its way to resting on Clarke’s knee, tracing the skin below her hemline idly as he drove. Clarke saw a sign for **Mount Weather, Georgia** as they sped down the road away from Ark. Shortly after they crossed into the new town, Bellamy pulled off the highway and they ended up parked in front of an unmarked building in a large field. Targets were positioned down range, their red and blue circles obvious to her eyes even from far away.

Bellamy exited the truck, hurrying to meet Clarke at her door and help her down. Noticing the confused look on Clarke’s face as her feet hit the ground, he explained. “After my first tour, I was required to keep up with my sharpshooting skills, but the gun range was too much to handle,” he said, his face obviously darkened by unwelcome memories. ”So, I took up archery,” he continued with a lighter tone, less plagued by flashbacks of gunfire resulting in a fallen comrade, “which is somewhat different from shooting a gun, but the skills still translate over well enough.”

“I’ve never shot anything before. Med school was more about saving people than wounding them,” Clarke regarded.

“I find it oddly therapeutic,” Bellamy admitted, raising his shoulders. “What do you say? Want to give it a try?” He grinned hopefully, lips pulling back to reveal a winning smile. “You could probably use a little therapy,” he added jokingly.

“Well, how can I say no to that?” Clarke said, any doubts she had melted away by the endearing freckle-faced man staring at her with boyish anticipation.

“Okay!” Beaming, he clapped his hands together. “Yeah, cool, um, yes, alright. Let me just…” He seemed to be spinning in the same spot before walking right into the rear fender. _Oof_. “...get you a bow.”

Clarke tried to hide her amusement as Bellamy finally managed to lower the tailgate and drag a large toolbox to the edge. He undid the hatch revealing two bows. One of them was grey and drab, nothing special. But the other was a bold blue and looked more like a torture device than something meant for archery.

“This one is for you, it’s a compound,” he said, handing her the cobalt blue weapon. A thick string wound back and forth between two wheels on each end of it, and her face scrunched up in confusion.

It didn’t look like any bow she’d seen before, what with all the extra stuff sticking out from it every which way. Clarke didn’t even know how to hold the thing, let alone how to use it. “It’s actually pretty light,” she said with a hint of surprise.

Bellamy smiled and held out his hand. “Shall we?”

Clarke reached out her free hand to entangle her fingers with his, following his lead toward the archery range in front of them. The only person around was a sleepy looking fellow pulling arrows out of the nearest target.

“Hey, Sinclair!” Bellamy called out.

“Bellamy?” The man squinted at the pair. “How’s it going? It’s been a while!” Sinclair had closed the distance between them and was soon standing in front of Bellamy.

“Yeah, I’ve had a lot on my plate,” he said, unravelling his hand from Clarke’s and reaching out to shake the man’s. “This is Clarke.”

“How lovely,” he smiled, taking Clarke’s hand daintily to place a kiss on her knuckles. He was a gentle looking man, probably in his early-forties, his hair laced with small wisps of silver.

Clarke blushed and Bellamy continued, “Do you mind if we take the far target?”

“Have at it, son, it’s good to have you. Clarke, you’re welcome anytime, of course.”

Clarke waved at the man before sliding her hand back into Bellamy’s, following at his heels towards the station.

They reached the shooting line and Bellamy set his bow down on the nearby hay bale. Clarke followed suit, unsure of herself as she gently laid the weapon down. She didn’t have long to dwell, though, because a second later Bellamy was beckoning her over to where he was standing next to the target.

“This is just a standard FITA target -- ten rings, five colors, and one final inner gold ring which used for tie-breakers.” He set a finger on the outer white ring. “This is one point, and the points increase in intervals of one as you move inward. Typically, each shooter is allowed three to six arrows and the score is tallied at the end.”

Clarke nodded as he continued, “I don’t typically play with scoring, only to hone my technique and concentration. Sometimes I replace a target sheet with my own, challenging myself to hit certain spots.”

Bellamy grabbed on the arrows provided by the target

“Stand over here, so I can show you how it’s done,” Bellamy winked.

Clarke took a small step backward as Bellamy lined up his shot, the string (and his muscles) taut from the pull. On his exhale, he released the arrow and it buried itself just inside the outer red ring of the target.

He let out a small sigh, pinching his lips in a dissatisfied frown. “It’s been awhile, looks like I’m a bit rusty.” He set up for another go, arrow planting itself into the inner gold ring. “That’s more like it,” he said with a self-satisfied smirk.

Bellamy took a few more shots, demonstrating to Clarke the proper footing, where to put her fingers, the angle her elbow needed to be in, and numerous other things that she’d since forgotten.

“Alright, princess, you ready to make my day?”

Clarke let out a nervous sigh, but smiled and stepped up to the line.

“Now, it’s going to be a little different for you because you’re left handed.” He stood just behind her, covering her hands on the bow. “Extend your right arm fully and hold up your hand, as if you were telling someone to ‘stop.’ Be careful with that grip,” he warned. “The string could snap against your arm, and it’ll hurt like hell.”

Clarke nodded, eyes narrowed in concentration. Bellamy guided the grip of the cobalt bow into her palm between her thumb and index finger. “Okay, pinch there, but just barely.” He said as he watched those two fingers find their positions, allowing the rest of the fingers to curl downward comfortably.

He stepped back to see Clarke more fully. “Here, you’re gripping it just a little too tight,” he corrected. “You want to be able to rock the bow back and forth-- your bow arm is just an anchor.”

Clarke’s eyes flicked toward him, and he smiled at her. “You’re doing great, just relax.” She smiled in return and grabbed an arrow, nocking it on the string.

“Alright, time for the draw. You’re going to use your elbow to line up your shot-- so, three fingers go on the string, right there below where the arrow is,” he said, pointing. “Keep that bow arm straight and strong, it’s only there for resistance. If you push into that arm, you’ll tilt too far forward and mess up your stance.”

Bellamy reached around her and put a hand on her hip, nudging her foot slightly with his own. Guiding her body outward, he cleared his throat. “As a… woman, you’ll, uh, want to keep your stance slightly more open-- that back foot should be almost parallel to the target.” He quickly retracted his body and stepped out of the way. “Okay, last thing-- you’re going to set your anchor. I usually touch those three fingers to the corner of my mouth, but you need to do it consistently-- hence: anchor.”

Clarke drew back her fingers to her mouth. “Like this?” She asked, brows creased and eyes trained on the bow.

“Perfect,” he smiled. “Repeat that motion two or three times.”

She followed the command, settling back into the anchored position.

“Make sure to roll your shoulders back so your chest stays nice and open,” he reminded her.

She tucked her shoulder blades together, gaze fixated on the target in front of her. “Like this?”

“Yeah, uh, that’s good. Uh--” Bellamy shook his head slightly, trying not to be distracted by the way the stance was enhancing the shape of her body.

Taking another step back, he positioned himself at a safe distance. “Aim the tip of the arrow towards that bullseye, breathe in, and when you breathe out, just let your elbow pull back a bit!”

Clarke took a deep breath and released the arrow, but not before leaning in-- altering her stance. This caught her off guard and she clutched at the bow, freaking out as the string snapped against her forearm and the arrow grounded to the right of target.

Bellamy let out a laugh as Clarke stood there wide-eyed with slumped shoulders, rubbing the red welt already forming on her arm. She exhaled curtly and Bellamy just shook his head. “That was really good for your first shot!”

Clarke rolled her eyes at him. It felt like empty praise, like something you would say to a toddler after they proudly present you with an unidentifiable drawing.

“Let’s try it again?” He took a spot directly behind her and placed his hand on her diaphragm.

The warmth from his palm sent a small jolt of electricity through her and she shivered beneath him. Her cheeks flush as she tried to retain her focus.

He leaned in and, almost at a whisper, said, “Breathe through here.” He pressed gently into her abdomen. “Deep and steady-- don’t think about what your arms are doing, just think about where you want that arrow to go. Visualize it hitting the target. When you’re ready, draw back, line up the shot, and just let your fingers roll off the string on your exhale.”

Clarke felt the heat dissipate as Bellamy released his hand and stepped away from her.

She inhaled slowly, and closed her eyes for just a beat before releasing the string, letting the bow do the work for her. The moment seemed to last forever until the arrow embedded itself it the outermost ring of the target.

“Oh my god!” Clarke gasped, “That was amazing.”

Bellamy felt a big smile spread across his face.

Clarke turned to him. “You ready to duel?”

He snorted. “You think you’re a hotshot after hitting the target once?”

Clarke just grinned at him and _of course he caved_. They spent the next 45 minutes taking turns on the target. Predictably, Bellamy scored more points, but not as many as he _could_ have.

Clarke managed to hit the target just six more times. She kept letting her laughter throw off her stance.

“God, my body is going to hurt from this tomorrow,” Clarke groaned, rubbing her shoulders. She had given up on good form and all that jazz, opting to watch Bellamy flex his muscles and show off instead.

Finally he set down his bow and turned to Clarke, who was sitting in one spectator chair with her feet up on a second one. He stopped and looked at her for a moment-- noticing the freckle just above her lip, and the way her eyelashes brushed against each other when she blinked. She looked away, blushing.

“You hungry?” Bellamy asked.

“Starving,” she admitted.

“Okay, onto phase two.”

Her face lit up and they headed back to the truck, Clarke swinging the blue contraption like a child as she trailed behind Bellamy. He took the bow from her and packed them both away in the toolbox before proceeding to open the door for Clarke.

“Thanks, Sinclair,” Bellamy yelled out at the older man, who waved back and returned to working on the bow on his workbench.

As they returned to the highway, he had his arm slung behind the seat while Clarke leaned into him. Feeling bold, she stole a glance at Bellamy, whose face was illuminated by a halo of light through the window. A few minutes after leaving the range, he turned off the main road onto a dirt one. Soon, they were in a clearing that looked over the lake from above and there was a small fence along the edge of the rock face.

As the scene opened up before, astonishment filled Clarke’s eyes and excitement bubbled up inside of her. “I should have brought my sketchbook, this is incredible Bellamy!”

Clarke hopped out of the truck before he could respond, kicking off her shoes as she made her way to the edge of the cliff. She leaned over the fence, the loose wisps of hair dancing around her face in the soft summer breeze. Bellamy lowered himself from the truck and leaned over the side of the bed to grab a large basket and a blanket.

He walked halfway towards Clarke before setting them down. Spreading out the blanket, he stopped and watching Clarke at the fence. Clarke’s hand gripped the metal railing and she threw her head back, closing her eyes. All day, she’d been fully at ease with him, enjoying each moment they’d spent together like it had been some gift. He walked up behind her, sliding his hands around her and leaning in to place a soft kiss just below her ear. He tugged gently at her waist. “C’mere.” He nodded back toward the picnic display he had set up.

“Oh my god,” she brought her hand up to her mouth, dropping it after a moment to reveal a bright smile. Rolling up onto her toes, she kissed his cheek. Bellamy bit his lip slightly and grabbed her hand to lead her to the blanket. She knelt down excitedly and tried to open the basket.

Bellamy swatted at her gently, “Let me, princess.”  He reached into the basket, pulling out a bottle of Shiraz and two long-stemmed glasses. Next, he set upon the task of uncorking the bottle. Thankfully, he had managed to think far enough in advance to pack a corkscrew.

Gently pouring the wine, he noticed his hands were noticeably shaking and he tried to steady them so as to not spill the red liquid everywhere.

“Hey,” Clarke said softly. “No need to be nervous.”

“I… this--it’s not, I’m not--” Bellamy sighed. “I haven’t done this in a long time.”

Clarke didn’t say anything, she just held up her glass and tipped it towards Bellamy. Smiling, he returned the gesture, clinking their glasses together. After indulging in a sip, Bellamy set to work unloading the rest of the baskets contents-- white takeaway containers from Wok Palace.

Clarke laughed and Bellamy blushed, but she just leaned over the basket and kissed him chastely on the lips before pulling away and grabbing the container of lo mein and a pair of chopsticks.

“It’s perfect,” she said and smiled before taking a bite.

They sat there chatting about simple things, like the first time Clarke got drunk in college and puked on her TA’s shoes, and the time Bellamy “accidentally” pushed Octavia off of a toy box and she broke her leg. “I was nine years old!” he exclaimed.

“Oh, that’s definitely old enough to know better,” Clarke laughed.

After they finished their first glass of wine, they each started on another, a giggle escaping Clarke’s lips when she accidentally over-poured his serving. They made quick work of putting all the containers back into the basket, when it had started to get dark outside, but a warm haze still hung around and it didn’t bother them.

One more glass each and the Argentinian red had disappeared completely. Clarke’s head rested near Bellamy’s, their feet sticking out in opposite directions as they looked up towards the sky.

They were quiet for a while, letting the wine wash over them, both feeling a bit tipsy and warm.

“You don’t talk about yourself much,” Bellamy finally said, almost wishing he hadn't.

Clarke shifted so she was on her side and propped herself up on her elbow to look at him.

“Yeah, that’s because I’m kind of a mess. I am a mess of a human being.”

“Is there any other kind?” Bellamy asked, reaching up to brush along Clarkes chin. _Even the dimple on her chin is adorable._ His thoughts were a bit bubbly, but he could make out every feature on her face.

Clarke laid back down, eyes focused on the stars that had taken over the sky. “I was in a long-term relationship with this guy,” she started. “His name was Finn and we started dating in college. He was a philosophy major, kind of a tree hugger-- but he had a good heart. I was happy; he made me happy. We went through a lot together. His dad was in jail and his mom was kind of a deadbeat, and we found each other at a time when we needed to have something to hold on to. I, um--” Clarke paused for a minute, but Bellamy just stayed quiet. “Uh, sorry. I, um, my best friend was killed by an underaged drunk driver. The kid got off with a slap on the wrist and I lost someone who was so, so important to me. Finn was there for me through that. I moved in with him after we graduated, I started med school, and he was working for a non-profit. Everything was great, and then one day my mom called and told me Dad was sick. Like, _sick_ -sick.”

Bellamy could hear the heartbreak in her voice. She tried to keep it from wavering, she was trying to be strong.

“I went home during Spring Break, and, uh, found out my mom had been hiding the fact that my dad had been sick for about three months. She didn’t want me to leave in the middle of the semester-- ruin my career, or some bullshit. He died the same week, and everything just caved in. I went back to school after the funeral, and I come home to find a girl in our apartment. Finn was there, too. She was in a military uniform and they were both crying. Raven-- that was her name-- she, uh-- she had been on a deployment, too. Um, she had gone missing for about two years. He never told me anything about her, even though she wasn't declared “missing” for almost a year after we started dating. _Who does that?_ The army had officially declared her a casualty of war, but a special ops team had infiltrated the base where she was being held and brought her home. _What could I do?_ ”

Bellamy was looking at Clarke now, he could see her eyes brimming with tears and her eye makeup ran just slightly off to the side as she kept her gaze turned upward.

“She wasn't angry. She and Finn had been _engaged_. I could have stayed-- he asked me to, but my heart couldn't handle it. Loving him was something I had to choose to stop. I chose to stop. It was the only way to make the pain go away. It hurt just to look at him, it still kind of hurts to think about it now.”

“Who can blame you?” Bellamy said gently. He brought his arm up on the other side of her head, letting his thumb brush along the curve of her ear.

“I finished the semester at Johns Hopkins, barely. I managed to pull a passing grade through the last few semester hours, but by the end I had already decided I was going to withdraw my enrollment. God, my mom and I fought so much. She said I was giving up on my dreams and throwing away my future. You know, all that bullshit. Through all of it, I realized that I never really wanted to be a doctor. Sure, I was good at it, but it was something my mom loved. And I loved her. _I love her._ But my heart was so broken.”

Clarke wiped the side of her face where she felt the tears, laughing through a choked sob when she pulled her hand back to see the makeup on her fingers. She sat up, trying to pull herself together. Bellamy propped himself up on his elbows, trying to let the broken woman beside him have the moment she needed.

“God. Like I said, I am a _mess of a human being._ ” She huffed, trying to smile, “I know that’s a lot to take from a girl you met less than a week ago.”

Bellamy sat up all the way and turned to face Clarke.

“Yeah, but I feel like that’s not something you've told a lot of people.” His brows raised in question, though he was almost certain he was right.

“You’d be the… first, yep.” She looked at him with heartbroken eyes. “But for the first time in a while… somehow, being with you-- here, in this moment I feel better. But also, a huge part of me thinks that it’s momentary-- fleeting. My heart keeps telling me it’s just a day trip.”

“A lot can happen in a day.”

Clarke flashed a small smile. “A girl can dream.”

Bellamy leaned in, bringing a warm hand to her face. He hovered for a second, wanting to make sure she was okay with it. She leaned in slowly, and Bellamy met her lips. For just a minute, they allowed themselves to get a little drunk on each other, breathing each other in with each small gasp and gentle knock of teeth.

They broke away, a cloud of fervor hanging between them, and Bellamy touched his forehead to hers. Her eyes rose to meet his, and he smiled. “I want to show you something.”

Bellamy stood, brushing out the wrinkles on his jeans as he rose, and held out a hand for Clarke. He gave it a small squeeze as she returned to her feet and they walked along the fence line to get a view of the lake from the other side of the outlook.

Bellamy pointed out into the darkness. “You see that tiny little light right there?”

Clarke followed the trajectory of his finger, eyes coming to focus on a very tiny little light. “Yeah?”

“That’s my house.” Bellamy said, chest high with pride.

“What!?” Clarke squinted, trying to make an outline of the house, but she could only see the light. She shook her head. “God, Bell.”

He felt a pang in his stomach: a small knot of hope and nerves.

_Oh, god. She called me Bell. Why the hell does it make me feel like this?_

“... I still think it’s so incredible what you’re doing.” She leaned her elbows on the railing, her chin propped up in her open palms.

Bellamy mirrored her action. “I was tired of being afraid that I wasn’t going to amount to anything.”

Clarke swayed, gently bumping her side into Bellamy with a cute grin.

“You ready to go?” he asked.

She nodded as she straightened up, and he again followed suit. This time, he wrapped his arm around Clarke’s shoulder and her arm slid in around his waist, and they walked back to the truck linked together.

The road was quiet as they drove back. Clarke was nestled under Bellamy’s right arm, her feet up on the dashboard. An old jazz station was coming in and out of static-filled radio, but a grainy sounding “The Way You Look Tonight” hummed quietly.

“It’s still early. Want to come up for a nightcap?” Bellamy said hopefully, so low that it was almost a whisper.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were just trying to get me into bed with you,” Clarke said slyly.

Bellamy let out a quiet laugh. “After a night like tonight, I thought we both could use one more.”

“Okay,” she agreed a moment later.

“Okay?”

Her eyes rolled. “Yeah, I said okay, you idiot. Let’s just get home before I change my mind.”

Bellamy fixed his gaze ahead, smiling as they reached the apartment just minutes later. Clarke beat him to opening her own door and she met him at his instead. He barely had time to lock the truck before she came crashing into him, her hands sliding up into his hair and pulling him into her.

They stumbled backwards, hitting the staircase rather awkwardly. Clarke laughed against his lips and it vibrated through his body.

He scooped one arm under her knees while the other cradled her back and carried her up the stairs, only stumbling once (which he considered an almost Herculean feat). He had to set her down at the top as he fumbled in his pocket for his apartment keys. Clarke breathed heavy kissed onto his neck and collarbone (which was mind numbingly distracting), but he managed to align the key with the hole and turn to unlock it successfully, despite the nipping and biting.

The door slammed behind them and Bellamy had to pull away, breathing heavily. He floated over her, watching her chest rise and fall as she tried to steady her ragged breaths. He searched her eyes, a look of desire replacing the heartbroken one that had consumed them earlier that night.

He wanted to slow things down between them. Clarke was not the kind of girl you fuck. (At least not on the first date.)

He laid a trail of kisses along her hairline, onto her neck and the soft spot beneath her ear. Her body accepted the warmth as he ran his hands down her arms. Circling behind her, he turned her slightly and gently moved the braid over her shoulder. The zipper on the back of the dress was warm to the touch as he slowly pulled it downward, kissing the new skin as it was revealed to him. Clarke helped push her arms from the sleeves so the dress could drop to the floor, and she turned around to grab the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head.

Her nails dug into his back as she grabbed onto him, her mouth finding his once more. He moaned into her as she pulled on his lip with her teeth, and he grabbed under her thighs, pulling her up into him. Clarke let out a breath of air when Bellamy backed her into the wall, dipping down to press hot kisses into her collarbone while her hands fumbled with his belt.

His lips traveled lower, dancing along the top of her breast. Clarke’s brain went fuzzy and she melted back into the wall, her hands now grasping at Bellamy’s hair.

“Bellamy,” Clarke whimpered, her body electrified.

He withdrew one hand from beneath her to finish removing his belt and pants, stepping out of them as they hit the floor. Clarke felt him beneath her as he returned, canting his hips upward.

She clung to him as he lifted her away from the wall, and their mouths found each other again. Bellamy managed to navigate the dark apartment and find his bed, dropping Clarke onto it below him. They both stopped to breathe for a moment, Clarke pulling herself up to touch Bellamy’s bare stomach in front of her. A thin layer of sweat was now glistened on their skin, and Clarke reached around to unclasp her bra and throw it aside. She laid back down, allowing Bellamy to crawl on top of her. He nestled his knee between her thighs and placed one hand on her hip bone, the other bracing his weight on the bed just beside her. His fingers danced along the hem of her underwear and she nodded, granting him the permission to pull them off. In one swift motion, they were tossed across the empty apartment, and he moved to rid himself of his own, as well.

Bellamy kissed lazily up her inner thigh and onto her stomach, her breast, her neck and finally her mouth again. Their bodies now pressed together -- naked and wanting -- she could feel him.

It was slow, at first, but they were intoxicated by each other and Clarke soon felt her composure slipping away. Bellamy’s last reserves of self-control crumbled under the small gasp that escaped Clarke’s lips as he sank into her.

They came undone, entangled in each other so completely they could feel every movement, every touch, every shiver-- and that was enough.


	6. summer solstice solace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-date bliss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of fluff, relationship development... hang in there, the next couple parts might get bumpy. But for now... all of the fluff!

Clarke had woken up with the sun, her body humming. She had slipped from the bed, grabbing only her underwear and Bellamy's shirt to pull on in the early morning light. Bellamy was still breathing heavily-- his chest rising and falling to a slow rhythm. Her hair was a mess of curls, and she pulled it back into a sloppy braid and sat quietly on the end of the bed sketching out the strong lines of Bellamy's bare body sprawled out in front of her. After finishing, she set out to the kitchen to make coffee and find something to feed the grumbling pit in her stomach.

Bellamy hadn't slept that well since he got out of the army. His nights were normally filled with fitful tossing and turning. It was rare when he _didn’t_ have nightmarish memories of Afghanistan plaguing his sleep. But last night, he slept soundly. His body felt rested, for once, as if it had been able to relax instead of violently shifting throughout the night. He hadn’t woken up sweating from the flashes of gunshots and grenades exploding-- it was a peaceful. Any _shifting_ or sweating he had done last night was for a much more pleasurable reason.

He laid there for a moment with his eyes closed, letting his senses wake up slowly. The sheet was tangled and strewn across the bed, barely covering him-- that's how he noticed the lack of warmth beside him.

Clarke stood at the counter while the machine brewed the steamy liquid, rifling through the cupboards and coming up mostly empty handed. She stood on her tiptoes, the hem of the shirt climbing up the curve of her backside until, with a sudden warmth, she felt two strong hands slide along the exposed skin of her torso and wrap around her waist.

Bellamy leaned down to place a soft kiss on her neck, her body melting back into his.

"Hi, there," Clarke said, turning her face into his hair with a smile.

"Good morning, princess." His voice was still thick with sleep and his hair was deliciously disheveled.

Clarke turned around, now trapped between Bellamy as he placed his hands on either side of her on the counter. Wearing his sweatpants, which were hanging dangerously low on his hips, he leaned his body into her. "I'm sorry, but I don't believe that shirt belongs to you."

"Oh, this old thing?" Clarke teased.

Bellamy's hands slid up beneath the hem, thumbs rubbing circles into her side. He stopped, grabbing her and lifting her up onto the counter, allowing her to wrap her legs around him. Bellamy met her eyes with a mischievous sparkle, and Clarke brought her hands to his face, tracing her fingers along his jaw as she moved to brush her lips gently across his.

She pulled away after only a short moment, Bellamy dipping forward with the absence of her mouth against his. Still hovering only a breath apart, the coffee machine finished with a ding and Clarke laughed. Bellamy resigned his forehead to Clarke's shoulder in defeat.

"Coffee is ready."

"I think there are other things I'd rather do to wake me up," Bellamy kissed into her collarbone.

Clarke slid from the counter, ducking under his arm to reach the coffee machine on the opposite counter. Fixing herself a cup, she shook her head, "After last night, I have no energy for anything like that before my coffee."

Bellamy smiled at the ground, messing with his hair. Visions of the previous evening swirled through their minds, causing a soft flush to creep into their cheeks: the intoxicating heat, the entangled bodies, the electrifying physical contact.

"Surprisingly, I think I found enough ingredients in your kitchen to make pancakes," Clarke said between sips.

"That sounds incredible," Bellamy sighed, fixing his own mug.

They both leaned against the counter, arms touching, while they drank their coffee and made small talk. The sun streamed in through the tall warehouse windows of the apartment, bouncing around the kitchen and creating a warm haze over the two.

Clarke moved around the kitchen again, collecting the ingredients while Bellamy prepared the skillet and stovetop. Effortlessly they danced around the kitchen working on breakfast: Clarke dipping under Bellamy to grab the eggs as he raised the carton of milk over his head, Bellamy spinning to his left when Clarke turned to grab the wooden spoon from the drawer, Clarke reaching around Bellamy when she needed the measuring cup behind him on the counter. Bellamy laughed when Clarke wanted to make the pancakes into shapes, and she had to slap his hand away when he tried eating the chocolate chips right out of the bag.

“Those are for the pancakes!” She laughed, shaking her head.

Bellamy just smiled and popped a small handful in his mouth. The rest of the morning went like this: laughing their way through breakfast; Clarke flipping pancake batter on Bellamy; both faces plastered with stupid, goofy smiles; each of them placing scattered kisses on the other’s nose, cheeks, forehead. They felt like feathers, weightlessly floating on the wind.

This was what Sunday mornings were supposed to feel like.

After they finished eating, Bellamy offered to clean up while Clarke took a shower. He only waited a few minutes before abandoning his post and barging into the bathroom.

“You know, my utility bill was awfully high last month. I should really try to conserve water,” he proclaimed, dropping his sweatpants to the ground.

Clarke just laughed as Bellamy joined her in the shower, pulling his face down to hers to kiss him.

For the day, they lived in their own world. Clarke didn’t have a change of clothes, so she settled for an old pair of Bellamys sweatpants (which were comically large on her) and t-shirt. They curled up on the couch with the apartment windows open watching Dr. No-- Bellamy’s arm splayed across the back of the cushions and Clarke nestled into his side lazily.

Clarke had her phone sitting on the small coffee table in front of them when the screen lit up and she heard it vibrate against the wood. She picked it up to see that she had received a message from Octavia.

_Summer Solstice emergency-- remember how I told u Roma bailed? Need help ASAP, can I count on u?_

“Octavia wants me to help with the Solstice festival.” Clarke turned to look at Bellamy. “Like, really help-- like, be-in-charge-of-all-the-decorations help.”

“It’s two weeks away,” he reminded her, unwilling to let himself accept the implications of her agreeing to this just yet.

“Yeah… I guess-- I guess I’m sticking around for at least two more weeks,” she said with slight apprehension.

Bellamy smiled. “I’m not opposed to that at all.”

+

“Seriously Clarke, you are _more_ than a lifesaver.”

“Octavia, it’s alright! I know how important this is to you and to a lot of people. Really, I’m happy to help.” Clarke was sifting through the three inch stack of papers Octavia had just thrust at her. They were less than two weeks away from the festival and Octavia was _a tad bit_ frantic.

“The day will start off at eleven A.M with the parade. There are several different groups from the community that will be participating with floats and such-- the elementary school choir, 4-H, the auto shop, of course. I think the karate class put together a demonstration, like they did last year.”

Clarke had pulled out a notebook to take notes while Octavia twittered on, doodling ideas for the whimsical woodland theme as she half paid attention to the logistics of the day.

Octavia went on to talk about the town square and all the booths that would be set up as well as the band that would be playing on the gazebo. She mentioned the Hunky Hamper auction-- bidding on baskets blindly and getting to go on a ‘date’ or an outing with the creator of said basket. She talked about the skit that the fifth and sixth grade classes would be putting on about fairy folklore.

“Who makes the baskets?” Clarke mused.

“What?” Octavia stopped, having her backtrack her thought process. “Oh, random people-- mostly the town bachelors. The guys from the shop usually each make one, the tellers at the bank, so on and so forth.”

Clarke nodded and turned her attention back to her notes and doodles.

+

Bellamy was mindlessly messing with something under the hood of his truck in the shop, so distracted that he didn’t even hear Jasper come in. He was humming something under his breath, every ounce of concentration thrown into his task.

Jasper went clanking about the shop, dropping a wrench on the concrete, purposely trying to garner Bellamy’s attention. Monty came in while Jasper was clowning around, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Dude, what are you doing?”

“I’m trying to see how long it takes for Bellamy to notice,” Jasper said while picking up a tool box from the workbench and rattling it around. “It’s been six whole minutes.”

Monty and Jasper stood there for a moment watching Bellamy muse, until Monty moved to stand right behind him at the truck and bellowed, “Clarke! So nice to SEE YOU THIS MORNING.”

Bellamy snapped out of his trance, slamming his head into the hood of the truck in his attempts to stand up straight. Jasper and Monty broke out into laughter as Bellamy’s face contorted from anger.

“What the hell?” he muttered, rubbing his hand along the bump that was forming on his head.

“Bellamy Lucille Blake, we've been here almost eight full minutes… making noise, without you realizing we were here.”

“Jasper Rhys Jordan, we have known each other twenty years. You know goddamn well that is _not_ my middle name,” Bellamy said with exasperation. “And… shut up.”

“What has gotten into you?” Monty asked, raising his eyebrow at Bellamy as he popped a handful of cheerios into his mouth.

“No one-- I mean, uh, nothing, I’m fine.” Bellamy felt his face flush.

“You’re.. fine? Bellamy, man, you’re _blushing_ ,” Jasper said pointedly.

Bellamy groaned, setting his hands on the truck and letting his head hang. “I am in deep.”

“Shit.” Jasper whistled.

Monty sat down on the lounge chair they kept in between the work stations. “Bellamy, you've known this girl, what, a week?”

Bellamy sighed, “I know… I know!” He was tugging at his own hair, trying to flatten out the cowlick. “I’m a fucking mess, guys. Shes-- I’ve never-- I can’t.” He struggled to find words that properly expressed his emotions. “Ugh, Clarke makes me feel… I don’t even know, safe? I slept through the fucking night, no nightmares. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a decent night’s sleep?”

Jasper and Monty exchanged looks, “Shit, dude. You’re in deep,” Jasper said with a smirk.

“Fuck.”

+

Clarke had climbed into the passengers side of Octavia’s car as they drove to Mount Weather to check out stores for decorations, and Octavia also needed to check in with the caterer. Clarke drifted through the shelves of an antique shop next door to the bakery that was doing desserts for the festival. She found a box of mismatched mason jars on one shelf, and in the corner there was a endless rack of bohemian scarves. She had a decent enough budget to work with, so she gathered them up into a cardboard box from the car and brought them to the check out.

Octavia bounced back out of the bakery to meet Clarke at the car. “Dessert - check! How’d you fare?”

Clarke held up the box with a satisfied smile on her face. They made a few more stops so Clarke could gather materials for the mural and table settings. Octavia tried to figure out the potpourri of items Clarke had procured. “You’ll see when it all comes together.”

Octavia nodded, she was confident in Clarke. Summer Solstice was one of the few times a year that Ark and Mount Weather came together to celebrate. Each year they alternated hosting the event, and Octavia wanted this year’s to be the best yet.

They drove back toward Ark to finish a few more details, several of the shops in town having specific responsibilities-- just as the few in Mount Weather had. Octavia wanted Clarke to meet with the florist to finalize a few ideas, and Octavia needed to get the final set list from the band and stop by the elementary school to check up on the skit progress.

Clarke couldn't help but admire Octavia. She had a big heart and spirit contained in that petite body of hers. By the end of the night Clarke was worn out. They finally made it back to Octavia’s apartment way past dinner time, Wok Palace in hand. They dumped all of their festival supplies on the kitchen table and Clarke dropped her bag on the big chair in the living room.

“You want a beer, Clarke?” Octavia yelled, head inside the fridge.

“Yeah, that’d be awesome.”

Having pulled all the pillows off the couch, they plopped down around the small coffee table on the floor, sipping their drinks and eating takeout.

“So,” Octavia finally said. “You haven’t told me much about the date. I mean, I’m assuming it went well since you didn’t come home until… this morning. But, still. Spill.” She wiggled in her spot on the floor anxiously.

They hadn't had much time that day for personal chat. Octavia had been in business mode from the get-go.

Clarke couldn't help but smile at the memories of the past few days. “Yeah… it was kind of perfect.” A pinkish color spread across her cheeks. “Really, perfect.”

+

The next week and a half went by quickly. Their days were filled with work and preparations: Bellamy trying to keep busy at the shop while working on blueprints for the house; Clarke painting and organizing and looking up ideas on Pinterest and then tweaking them. Their nights were spent out at the Bunker; Clarke would set out a blanket with all of her notebooks and pens, or sometimes she’d bring a book. Sometimes she’d just watch as Bellamy worked on the house.

Bellamy would stop to wipe some of the sweat from his forehead, taking a quick glance at Clarke basking in the scattered rays of light streaming through the trees. She’d catch his eye and grin at him.

One night they locked eyes and Bellamy stopped what he was doing and trotted over to her.

“No, no, no, you’re all sweaty and gross!” She squealed as she clambered to her feet and threw her hands out to stop him.

The corners of his mouth pulled into a sly smirk as he ducked under her arms and grabbed her around her waist. He hoisted her over his shoulder as she squirmed, laughing in protest.

“Perhaps there is a remedy for my sweaty body. Oh look, a body of water,” he said sarcastically.

“No, no, no! Bellamy!” she giggled, voice pitching up an octave or two.

He waded into the lake a ways with a wiggling Clarke flung over his shoulder before gently dropping her down into the water. It was only a few feet deep but the look of shock of Clarke’s face paralleled the temperature.

“Oh my god, I so hate you right now.” She gasped as her clothes worked like a sponge in the chilly lake.

“Oh my god, you _so_ don’t,” he mocked, splashing her.

“ _Don’t._ Don’t you dare splash me,” she warned.

“What? You mean like... _this_?” He playfully struck the lake, sending a wave of water over her body.

Her mouth dropped open. “Bellamy!”

He had a stupid, smug smile plastered on his face as he watched her stand there with an incredulous look on hers. But a moment of silence was all she got before he splashed her again.

“Oh, you’re going down now, Blake.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time,” he teased, winking.

She leapt forward, attempting to dunk him under the water but he dodged her attack, lifting her up easily and tossing her a few feet away where she landed with a splash.

This time she emerged dripping. “That’s a good look on you, princess,” he chuckled, forcing his features into a mask of seriousness a moment later.

Her face shifted and she waded back over to Bellamy, stopping just short of his towering figure.

“That was not a very nice thing to do, Mr. Blake. But I suppose I can forgive you...” She brought her fingers to the buttons of his shirt, walking them up towards his collar. This time it was Clarke who had the smug smile as she grabbed onto him, pulling him down onto her lips.

Bellamy’s hands found her waist, coaxing her towards him until, suddenly, he felt a tug. He was barely able to take a breath before being dragged below the clear surface of the lake. They both sprung back up, Bellamy newly drenched and panting.

Clarke threw her head back in laughter, and Bellamy tried to be angry but failed miserably as he reached for her. He placed his hand behind her neck, her laughter still vibrating against him as he kissed her. Her hands snaked up to his hair, weaving into the wet, tangled tresses.

After several moments, the temperature caught back up with them and Clarke shivered. They reached the shore and she pulled on the sweater she had left on the blanket. Bellamy, however, peeled off the dripping wet shirt that was clinging to… every line of his body.

Clarke’s eyes were unabashedly glued to his sun-tanned chest. She would definitely be staying at the apartment tonight.

+

She didn’t stay at his apartment every night. There were days where she and Octavia were on the go all day and she didn’t see him at all. He would send her short texts riddled with stupid emojis and she’d laugh as she sat on Octavia’s couch while they watched reruns of Friends before retiring to bed.

On the eve of the Summer Solstice, Clarke and Octavia had set up camp in the city center and took to directing the dozens of volunteers where to put booths and which decorations needed to go where. Clarke was talking to a high school about the candles for the mason jars when she caught a glimpse of Bellamy out of the corner of her eye. He was headed toward the Hunky Hamper table, standard basket in tow. She raised her hand in a small wave, and he returned the greeting with a smile and nod.

Octavia found Clarke late that night after most of the volunteers had dispersed. She had a small flask in her hand, and she held it out to Clarke. “I think we've earned this.”

Clarke took the flask, smiling before taking a large swig.

“Hell, yeah.” Clarke said, wiping moonshine from her lips. “Hell of a job, O. Hell. Of. A. Job.”

“Well, let’s just hope everything goes as planned tomorrow. Then we can enjoy it.”

They soaked up a couple minutes of peace, exchanging the flask between them as they looked out on the enchanted woodland their town square had been transformed into. Bellamy came up behind them, nudging Octavia before draping his arms around Clarke and drawing her into his chest.

Clarke melted back into him, the day catching up with her as a warm buzz clung to her limbs. Bellamy bent down to place a soft kiss on her neck and whispered, “Ready to go?”

Clarke nodded lazily and turned, still in his embrace. Rising up on her toes, she planted a light kiss on the corner of his mouth before finding his hand still around her and taking it in her own.

“See you tomorrow, O?” Clarke squeezed Octavia’s shoulder.

Octavia flipped her hair around with a sleepy smile, “Absolutely.” She leaned up to give Bellamy a kiss on the cheek and she waltzed off to double-check the basket booth before heading to her own car.

Clarke and Bellamy meandered their way back to Bellamy’s truck, hands tangled lazily between them, swinging back and forth. It had become customary for Clarke to sprawl out in the front seat of the truck-- head resting on his shoulder, or side, or lap and her feet propped up on the dashboard-- while they drove home with the windows down, crickets chirping in the fields along the road.

Clarke had nearly fallen asleep on the drive home and Bellamy had needed to support her up the stairs. Soundlessly, he piloted her to the bedroom. Bellamy peeled off his shirt and pants as Clarke shimmied out of her sundress, throwing on one of Bellamy’s t-shirts before both of them crawled into bed. His arm curled around her mindlessly, tucking her to his chest in the way that had become familiar. She had become something of an anchor for him, grounding him in reality even as he slept.

+

The parade went off _mostly_ without a hitch-- one of the elementary kids started crying in the middle of the procession and refused to move from his position. Clarke was able to sit back and watch the show play out, all her work having been finished the night before. She wandered through the array of booths, relishing in all of the homemade jams and hand woven blankets and various services that the townspeople had to offer. She even stopped at the veterinarian’s booth to play the ring toss game. She missed every time, but it was for a good cause, right?

Octavia was still running around like a mad woman, checking details with each booth to make sure they matched the ones of her clipboard. Clarke tried to keep her in her sight the whole day, just to make sure she didn’t pass out from exhaustion.

Just before four, she saw a tall, muscular man, arms covered in tattoos, come up behind Octavia and scoop her up into his arms like she was a doll.. Clarke couldn't help but smile as Octavia squealed with delight, twisting in the man's embrace to so she could snake her fingers around his neck and pull him in for a kiss.

Clarke’s gaze then went to Bellamy, who was over by the line of parade floats he was helping dismantle from earlier that day. His lips were in a tight line and his brows were creased with concern, but she saw him shake it off-- she knew he was telling himself that Octavia was a grown up, that she could make her own decisions.

Clarke shook her head and smiled before waltzing over to him. She hooked a finger in his belt loop for leverage as she leaned up to kiss him.

“So, are you going to tell me which basket is yours? Or am I going to have to fight with every other girl out here for the chance at a date with you?” Clarke teased.

“Of course you’re going to have to battle it out with the rest of the prey, Clarke.” He taunted, “I am quite in demand, you see.” He puffed out his chest and stuck up his nose in mock bravado.

“You know what, I _did_ meet this really cute guy at the cake walk… maybe _he’ll_ tell me what’s in his basket,” she said tiptoeing back on her heels before turning, swaying her hips dramatically as she made off for booth on the other side of the square.

Bellamys mouth dropped open and his shoulders slumped in defeat as he turned back to finish dismantling the last float for the bank.

The last big event before the closing skit was the Hunky Hamper. There were a dozen identical baskets sitting on the table on the small stage, and a dozen bachelors standing behind Octavia. She began to list the contents of the first basket as Bellamy scanned the crowd for Clarke, finding her eyes. Clarke teased him by making faces of extreme interest at each of the baskets contents until Octavia got to basket number eight.

“Hunky Hamper Number Eight, let’s see… uh,” Octavia stammered. “It looks like the contents of this basket are exactly eight egg rolls from Wok Palace.”

Clarke snorted and Bellamy was trying not to laugh as Octavia finished announcing the contents of the final four baskets before beginning the bidding. Clarke threw a couple bids at other dates, just to up the ante-- the money from this event was going to the elementary schools drama production, a good cause-- plus, she liked to see Bellamy squirm.

She didn’t have any competition for eight egg rolls, not when the other baskets were stuffed with wine and truffles and roses and junk. Bellamy stepped forward to present Clarke with the basket, Octavia rolling her eyes. All of the winners remained on stage with their Hunk Hamper counterpart until the event was over. Bellamy and Clarke stood close together, bumping each other in amusement and not really paying attention to the rest of the winners.

As soon as they finished, Octavia announced that the closing skit would be taking place by the gazebo and the crowd started to scatter. Bellamy and Clarke hung back.

“Don’t worry, those egg rolls are fresh.”

“Oh, yeah.” Clark rolled her eyes. “I was really worried.”

Bellamy took the basket in his left hand, draping his free arm over her shoulder and guiding her towards the nearly empty parking lot where the truck was parked.

Clarke had tucked her arm around his waist as they walked away from the crowd of people gathering. Back at the truck, Bellamy dropped open the tailgate revealing a bunch of blankets covering the bed liner. He helped Clarke climb up onto the makeshift pallet, joining her afterwards with the egg rolls in tow.

Clarke only ate two. Well, one and three quarters. Bellamy chomped off the end of her second one after downing the other six.

Clarke relaxed back into the ocean of blankets, looking up at the sky. She felt Bellamys warmth as he laid down next to her, and she felt his gaze. She turned her head to meet his eyes, and her hand felt around until it found his and they stayed still for a minute-- fingers tangled together between them.

“Three weeks.”

“Hm?” Clarke hummed.

“How have we only known each other three weeks, but it feels like a lifetime?”

Clarke turned and propped herself up on her elbow. She reached over to his face, fingers tracing his jaw. With a gentle smile she leaned down to place a kiss on his lips.

Bellamy brought his grip up to her waist, pulling her on top of him. Her hands were now lost in his hair and their breaths became more ragged. Running his fingers gingerly up her thigh, Clarke moaned softly into him.

He felt her body buckle slightly when he reach under the hem of her dress, and he took the opportunity to flip them over, her legs now wrapped around him as she looked up at him breathing heavy. Bellamy grabbed them hem of his shirt, removing it in one swift motion before bringing his mouth back onto hers.

Clarke’s nails gripped into his arms as his kisses moved down onto her neck, her collarbone, the hollow of her throat. A jolt of energy shot through her and she suddenly shifted before rolling them over again so she hovered over him. Bellamy propped himself on one forearm, the other moving to her back, searching for her zipper in earnest.

He found it, tugging hard as her bare breasts spilled out and she pushed the dress the rest of the way down her body.

Want and need surged through them as they each helped the other discard remaining articles of clothing in the dark corner of the lot. Their bodies knew each other much better now-- Bellamy’s fingertips ghosting over the spots he knew Clarke was most sensitive; Clarke’s mouth finding his neck, his chest, just above his pelvic bone.

Clarke eased onto him, rocking her hips to meet his, her hands pressed down onto his chest as she watched him come undone under her.

The night grew colder when they finished, their bodies worn and warm, huddling against each other. Blankets encased them while they laid there watching the stars.

 _Three weeks._ Three weeks was all it took for these two battered hearts to find solace in each other.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter didn't really _go_ anywhere, but I wanted to speed through some of the timeline. I've got plenty coming, so hold tight. It might get a little bumpy.
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://hellamybellamy.tumbr.com), and bless my beautiful goddess of an editor [Rachel](http://hellamyblake.tumbr.com) \-- read her stuff, it's amazing.
> 
> I live and love on reviews, so please, let me know if you love it!


	7. flashback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke receives an offer she can't help but consider-- until Bellamy begins to fight with demons from his past, leaving them both in a state of confusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only made you wait a few days instead of almost two weeks! So, this chapter gets a little angsty. Now we've got a little something for everyone in this story.
> 
> Please forgive me.

A few more weeks had passed since the festival with several isolated nights of fitful unrest reemerging in Bellamy’s sleep pattern. He had once again started to kick off the sheets in the middle of night, covered in sweat and startling Clarke awake in the process. Clarke would wake him up, worried; he’d brush her off, agitated. She had noticed the shift in his mood and tried to give him space-- spending more nights at Octavia’s, not coming out to the Bunker every night, not pressing the matter. She kept telling herself it wasn't her place.

Despite the comfort that Clarke had brought into his life, the anniversary of Miller’s death was drawing closer and Bellamy’s heart was heavy. Scenes from the day he died were on an endless loop in his brain, and he couldn't fucking shut it off. Things he did. Things he should have done. Things he _could_ have done. None of it was going to do any good. Miller was gone. He had lost his best friend, and _it was his fault_.

He was awoken early one morning after a particularly restless sleep by a muffled yelp.

_Fuck._

He sat upright to see Clarke standing by the edge of the bed, rubbing her leg.

Bellamy put in head in his hands, rubbing his eyes. “Clarke?” He looked up at her.

“You kneed me in the leg…” she said quietly.

His face dropped. “Oh, my god. Clarke-- god-- I am so sorry.” He climbed over to her side of the bed, reaching out for her and grabbing her hands.

She didn’t say anything else, she just kissed him on the forehead, leaning her body into his as she stood between his legs. He wrapped his arms around her, both sitting in silence.

“I’m going to go take a shower. I told Octavia I would meet her for coffee.”

Bellamy nodded, not making eye contact as she left the room. He fisted his hands into his hair in frustration. _Why the hell couldn't he pull it together. It had been six years._

The night of the anniversary was always the worst.

It was a few days after the accident with Clarke, and Bellamy couldn’t shut his brain off. Everytime he closed his eyes: the gunshots, the noise, the blood, all of it-- it was too much.

He was dreaming-- not dreaming, having a nightmare. An Afghan soldier was on top of him. They were struggling for purchase on the firearm between them. Bellamy rolled them over, trying to gain an advantage, forcing the palm of his hand onto his throat.

“ _B-bell!_ ” A muffled voice cried out.

Bellamy came crashing back into reality as a small body wriggling beneath his grip. Her hands holding on to his arms, trying to free herself.

He released his hands, scrambling backward off Clarke and off the bed-- his breath ragged and his body shaking.

Clarke had crawled backwards against the headboard, her hands on her throat, trying to gain composure. Her eyes were wet with tears of confusion and pain-- her own body wracked with fear.

“Oh, _god_.” Bellamy croaked.

“Bellamy, what’s going on?!” Clarke’s voice was hoarse.

“N-nothing, it’s nothing--” he stammered, his eyes darting around the room, blinking away his own tears.

“Nothing? Bellamy, this is not nothing!” She held a hand out in front of her, trying to bring his attention to the destroyed bed as her other hand still brushed against the redness of her neck. She scooted to the end of the bed, reaching to him, her voice softening. “Please, tell me what’s going on.”

“I can’t talk about it with you!” he said, louder than he intended.

She withdrew her hand, standing to face him. “What is so bad that you can’t talk about?! You haven’t been acting normal for weeks now!”

“Normal?” Bellamy scoffed, his anger rising. “What do you know about what’s _normal_ for me? You’ve been here, what, six weeks? You don’t know what’s normal for me!” His body was rigid, tense like a jungle cat about to pounce. He crossed his arms against his chest.

Clarkes face dropped, a hurt expression spreading across her face . “I, um-- no, yeah. You’re right, no-- I’m sorry.” She stammered, “I think I’m going to go…” Her voice was almost a whisper now.

“Yeah, maybe you should,” he said curtly, instantly regretting it. A brief silence hung in the air.

“I don’t know what the fuck I did,” Clarke finally said, her own pain and anger surfacing. “But apparently you have some shit to figure out. When you do, you know where I’ll be, since I can’t fucking leave this town.”

She bent over to grab her pants from the floor in huff.

“Clarke, wait, it’s not yo--” he stammered, but she had already left the room, slamming the door in her wake. “Argh!” He yelled through gritted teeth, throwing himself back onto the mattress in a rage.

+

Wide awake from to the events that had transpired early that morning, Bellamy decided to go visit a friend before heading in to work. His body mechanically made it’s way to the truck, driving the same route he’d taken so many times-- his muscle memory doing all of the work.

He pulled up to the Ark Memorial Cemetery, biting the inside of his cheek anxiously. After all these years, he was still uncomfortable in cemeteries. He’d been to countless funerals but it still gave him goosebumps to walk the long aisles of tombstones, each marked with last words and job descriptions.

He stopped short of a modest gravestone near a small oak tree towards the back of the cemetery-- hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, fingers gripping the small bottle of liquor he’d hidden away in one, two small shot glasses in the other.

Bellamy hovered, admiring the vase of yellow flowers he knew that Grandma Raine had brought by.

He set the shot glasses down in front of the gravestone, pouring the potent liquor generously until it spilled over the rim. In true military fashion, he saluted his fallen comrade before taking his shot.

_Hey, buddy. I know it’s been a while since we talked._

_Your mom is doing good, she’s back working at the flower shop. I stop by sometimes. Grandma Raine doesn’t work very much anymore._

_Your dad brought the pick-up to the shop last week. He still refuses to learn how to change his own oil. I think he likes giving us something to do, but mostly I think he really just wants to check in on me._

_I met a girl. You’d like her. She’s blonde-- I know you love blondes. God, she is a smart ass, though. But, I don’t know man. God, I am so close to just fucking it up too. You’d laugh if you were here. You’d tell me I was fucking it up. Like I always do._

_You’d tell me to stop being an asshole. You were always so straight with me._

_She makes me feel like it’s okay to be a mess-- to not have it all together. Yeah, you’d really like her._

_I wish you could meet her. I wish you were here._

He sat there quietly for a few minutes, staring at the tombstone, a small dash marking the entirety of Nathan Miller's life. A tiny fucking dash. As if that could capture the years of little league baseball where Miller volunteered to sit the bench so the other kids could play an inning or two. As if that could capture him spending his every Saturday the summer after sophomore year working at his grandma’s flower shop because she couldn't afford to pay someone full time. As if that could capture the countless times that Miller had saved Bellamy’s ass during combat, and the one time that Bellamy couldn't save his.  He tried to blink out the tears that he felt welling up in his eyes. Clearing his throat as he got up to leave, his eyes lingered on the engraving scrawled across the smooth white stone.

 _Nathan Miller_  
 _Beloved Son, Brave Soldier  
_ _July 20, 1987- July 19, 2008_

He blinked, keeping back the salty tears that welled up in his eyes. He bent back down to grab the other shot glass, downing it in one go.

_Miss you, Mill… Happy birthday._

He wiped the back of his hand across his nose, sniffling just a little before turning on his heels. Bellamy made his way back through the neat rows of American flag adorned graves to the truck. Climbing into his seat, he could hear the blood pounding in his ears. The knot in his empty stomach twisted, bringing a sour taste to his mouth, and he clenched his fingers around the steering wheel to steady himself.

It had been six years. Six fucking years. There were stretches of weeks when it was still all he thought about-- his time over there. Then there were weeks where it took everything he had to completely block out all memories from the hellish wasteland.

He was jerked back to reality when he phone vibrated in his jacket pocket. Bellamy recognized the number, and his heart dropped into his stomach.

+

He tromped into the shop around ten to find Jasper hunched over the engine of his jeep, goggles glued to his face. Bellamy headed to the office to work on payroll paperwork and some other administrative tasks-- not wanting to talk to anyone-- when Jasper’s head popped up from his work.

“Hey, uh, there’s a package on the desk in the office. I think it might be…” Bellamy cut him off with his hand, nodding brusquely.

A gnawing feeling appeared in the pit of his stomach. Bellamy knew what it was. Jasper watched him with concern as Bellamy escaped into the office, slamming the door behind him. Monty walked in at the exact moment the door rattled violently on the frame, and he turned to Jasper with raised eyebrows. Jasper just gave him a knowing look, shaking his head.

+

Clarke had begun picking up a few shifts down at the diner to help Monroe on busy nights over the last few weeks. She was hoping to make a little extra money so she could help with food and house expenses. The festival had been a huge success and people around town started to recognize Clarke when she was out or when she was working at the diner. It gave her strange mixture of feelings: anxiety and happiness.

The night after the debacle at Bellamy’s, she was waiting tables at the diner. It was a pretty slow night; Monroe had let a few of the other waitresses go home for a much needed break, but Clarke really hadn’t want to go home-- whatever that meant.

Clarke approached a table, occupied only by an older gentleman in a brown suit. “Good evening, sir, what can I get for you?” Clarke asked in her best waitress voice.

“Hi, darling. You’re Clarke Griffin, right?”

“Yes, sir, that’s me.” Clarke cocked her head with a slight smile.

“I’m Mr. Lemkin. I work at the high school,” he drawled.

Clarke stood there with her notepad, trying to make sense of the conversation. “Can I… get you something, Mr. Lemkin?”

He cleared his throat, “I’m sorry, I saw the mural you did for the festival a few weeks ago-- and I heard from all of the volunteers how well you did overseeing the tremendous amount of work that went into decorating our little town. Our art teacher, Miss Lucy, has had numerous health problems over the last several months and she has decided to take some time off. Seeing as it’s already July and the school year begins in August, we’re kind of in a pinch.”

“Are you… offering me a, uh, a job? Sir?” Clarke shifted anxiously.

“It’s an interim position. As Miss Lucy’s health progresses we may see if it would evolve into something else.”

“Sir, I’m flattered, but I don’t have an art degree. I have a degree in Biology, and a few years of medical school and nothing to show for it. I don’t know anything about teaching.”

“It’s only a basic art program. Three class periods a day, three days a week. The salary will not be extremely substantial, but you would also have access to the art room and resources as needed.” He looked at Clarke with hopeful eyes. “I’m hoping you’ll at least consider it.”

Clarke stood there a bit baffled, not quite sure what to say. After a moment, “Thank you so much for the offer, do you think I could have some time to think about it?”

“Of course...” His eyes dropped, “Um, also do you think I could get a slice of that key lime pie?” He looked back up at her with a gentle smile.

“You've got it.” She turned on her heels and headed back to the counter, replaying the conversation in her head.

+

Clarke went back to Octavia’s after her shift. She had brought home the rest of the key lime pie from the diner, setting the dessert and her keys on the counter with a jingle.

“Clarke, is that you?” Octavia called from the other room.

“Yeah!” Clarke replied, rounding the corner to see Octavia with an exotic looking girl. She had smokey eye make-up, her hair was long and laced with feathers, and her face was adorned with dark framed glasses. “Oh. Hi!”

“Clarke, this is Anya. Sorry, I totally forgot that she was coming home this weekend. Anya, this is Clarke-- the girl I called you about. She’s still waiting on her car to get fixed.”

“Pleasure.” Anya nodded to Clarke, slightly unimpressed by the situation.

_What does this mean for me? Do I stay here? Do I go to Bellamy’s? Ah, shit._

“I can have my stuff out of your room in no time, Anya. I really appreciate your letting me crash there.”

“No rush.” Anya looked like she belonged in an American Apparel magazine. She was wearing high-waisted shorts and a heather-gray cropped t-shirt that draped off her shoulder, tattoos peeking out between her shoulder blades and just below the hem of her shorts. Her chin was held high, carrying herself like she could crush her enemies beneath her red converse shoes.

Clarke offered a small smile though her mind was racing all of a sudden. Too many things had been thrown at her-- Bellamy, the job offer, sleeping arrangements. It was altogether too much.

Clarke sat down on the couch while Anya and Octavia talked about the Habitat program and the Solstice and her boyfriend and Clarke was overwhelmed.

She didn’t feel like telling Octavia about the offer. _Hell_ , she wasn't even sure what _she_ thought of the offer. Grabbing her phone from her bag, she pulled up her messages. Only one notification filled the screen: a text from Bellamy.

_Hey… I know this morning was weird. We should talk. - B_

Clarke tipped her head back against the couch, unsure of what to do about, well, _everything_.

“I, uh-- I’m going to get some fresh air.” Clarke let out a small breath, interrupting the two girls conversation.

“Okay!” Octavia nodded, not sensing Clarke’s anxiety.

She stepped out onto the small porch of the apartment and closed her eyes, trying to suck in as much oxygen her lungs could take-- the thick summer air working against her efforts. She almost fell over when she heard a husky voice cut through the sound of locusts buzzing.

“Hey…” Bellamy stepped out of the shadows and into the swath of light emanating from the single lamp on the porch.

“Bellamy, oh my god.” She clutched a hand to her chest, pulse thumping underneath her fingers. “You scared me.”

Bellamy looked exhausted. His face was drained of color and his forehead was creased as though he had been scowling. The soft glow of the porch lamp illuminated a band of sweat on his brow, and his hands were in his pockets, body tense and timid.

“God, Clarke. I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry.” He shuffled his feet, fighting a pained expression. “I know you didn’t deserve that. It’s just-- I’m just-- I’ve had a lot of shit happen in my life. To quote you, ‘I’m a mess of a human being.’”

Clarke’s armed were wrapped around herself, looking down to Bellamy standing at the bottom of the stairs.

Bellamy reached into the collar of his shirt to pull out the dog tags hanging around his neck.

“He would have been twenty-seven.”

Clarke winced, “Miller?”

“Today is his birthday.”

Clarke felt her chest ache. She fought back the wave of emotions that suddenly swept over her.

“I know I haven’t been completely honest with you. To be fair, I haven’t been completely honest with myself. We were-- I was supposed to look out for him. I just-- I promised his mom.” Bellamy stood there, his body doing everything it could to keep from crumbling. “We were celebrating. We’d been out there for weeks-- with nothing. We hadn’t had any ops for days-- we didn’t think it would hurt. We were going to stay up until midnight to ring in his twenty-first.”

Bellamy stopped talking and bit the inside of his mouth-- trying to do anything to keep himself from crying. Clarke was frozen at the top of the steps-- she was barely breathing, barely moving-- trying not to break the spell, trying not to let him shut it all away again.

“It was just a small group of us-- they split the platoon around the perimeter of this small region out in the desert. I was the command--” he got caught on his words. He cleared his throat, “I was the commanding officer, and I just ignored all the protocol-- I-- I _let_ it happen.” His voice broke.

Bellamy started to shake, his exterior crumbling. He was muttering details of Afghan soldiers and how dark it was-- they hadn't even had that much to drink. Clarke ran down the steps and wrapped herself around Bellamy, his body doubled over as deep sobs wracked through his limbs.

They stood there like that for while. Eventually his knees buckled, and Bellamy moved to sit on the bottom step. Clarke kneeled down in front of him, her chin resting on his knees and her hands holding his face, bringing his gaze to hers.

“This was not your fault, Bellamy. Bellamy, look at me.” He tried to pull his face away. “You did everything you could. He knows that. Miller knows that.”

She kissed him. She kissed his cheek, his jaw, his eyelids, his mouth. She dragged her fingers into his hair and pulled him into an embrace.

He pulled away slightly, looking downward. He swallowed hard, “I got a call from Fort Benning today.”

Clarke’s eyes widened.

“They want me for a special mission.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it. As always, my wonderful editor [Rachel](http://hellamyblake.tumbrl.com).
> 
> Please, please, please, let me know what you think. Love it, hate it. I thrive off of feedback, and I am always hoping to get better the more I write. 
> 
> Love you and thank you for reading! 
> 
> Check me out, follow me, whatever [here](http://hellamybellamy.tumblr.com)!


	8. don't go slow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little more heavy stuff... but we're getting closer.

They were both frozen for a moment until the door swung open and Octavia rushed out onto the porch.

“Oh, my god. Bell, are you okay? What happened.”

Bellamy looked at her with heartbreak painted all over his features, and the gears turned in her brain.

Her face softened, and she closed her eyes. “Today,” she said, understanding.

He nodded, still clutching Clarke’s arm as she stood there.

Clarke felt like she was intruding now. _This isn’t my place. I shouldn’t be here. They need each other. They’re family._ Clarke tried to pull away but Bellamy had a firm hold on her, though his hands were still shaking.

Octavia shuffled down the steps to Bellamy, and he wrapped his free arm around her and pulled her to his side with crushing force. His eyes were shut tightly and Clarke wanted to cry. Her heart hurt in more ways than one, and she couldn’t figure it out. She felt like she was suffocating-- as if some invisible hand was constricting her chest and keeping all the air from entering or exiting her lungs.

She managed to pull away from Bellamy as Octavia gathered him farther into her embrace, backing away from the house and escaping into the shadows. She walked and she walked, losing track of her steps and her surroundings, until she finally stopped at a bench in the middle of the town square.

Clarke sat down, pulling her knees to her chest. The square was quiet save for the electric hum of the nearby street lamps. It was late. She forgot her jacket, she realized as a chill sunk into her bones.

_Why do I feel like this? I hardly know these people!_

Blinking back tears, she drew in a shaky breath.

“Clarke?” A voice cut through the dark, and she suddenly became alert, trying to wipe the tears from her eyes as a lanky figure approached her.

“Oh, Jasper, I didn’t see you there.” She bit the inside of her cheek anxiously as she stared at her hands.

“Are you okay?” He approached her as though she were a wounded animal, something that could turn on him if he wasn't careful.

Clarke sniffled, “Oh, yeah, absolutely, of course.” She lied. Her face betrayed her.

He joined her on the bench as she scooted to make room for him, an awkward silence settling between them.

“Um, so, the part we needed for your car came today,” he said hesitantly. “We can have you up and running by the morning.”

A huge lump formed in Clarke’s throat. _This is a good thing… right? I can move on. Let these people get on with their lives._

“That's--” she cleared her throat, “that’s awesome.” She tried to give Jasper an assuring smile.

She failed.

Clarke buried her head in her hands, not really knowing what had come over her. Jasper quietly set his hand on her back, rubbing small circles into her sweater, trying to comfort her.

After a while, Clarke moved to stand up. “I should go, it’s late.”

Jasper nodded as she turned. “Hey,” he said quietly. “He really cares about you, you know.”

Clarke clenched her teeth. “Yeah.”

+

Bellamy finally pulled away from Octavia, his hand extending to where Clarke had been moments before-- only finding empty air where she should have been. Octavia said something about coming inside and Bellamy nodded absentmindedly, eyes searching for Clarke-- but she was gone.

He sat in the living room-- Anya had made herself scarce-- as Octavia busied herself in the kitchen with making them both a decent cup of tea. Bellamy looked around at all of Clarke’s boxes that had been moved back into the main area, sketches and cable knit sweaters peeking out from underneath improperly closed cardboard flaps. Octavia wandered back into the room equipped with two mugs, handing one to her brother.

He reached out to accept the tea with a weary smile as they both found a spot on the couch.

Octavia bit her lip nervously as she watched her brother. “Are you going to tell me what else is going on?”

Bellamy went to shrug, but Octavia cut him off. “I’m not stupid Bellamy. I know there’s more to this than Miller’s anniversary. That I understand, that I know-- but-- but, this is different, Bell. Something else is going on.”

He stared intently at his mug before taking a deep breath. “I got a phone call from my superior officer at Fort Benning.”

Octavia’s face dropped and she set her tea down on the end table.

“They are, uh, putting together a special operations team for a mission in Afghanistan. A small platoon-- several of my guys were ambushed and most of them have gone missing. It’s an area I’m familiar with, it’s _my team_ out there, and they wanted someone who could get the job done… I guess.”

“Bell, you've been out six years. Six goddamned years, and you _still_ have nightmares. Why would you ever want to go back out there?” Octavia cried, pleading for some explanation that didn’t involve honor or loyalty or some other noble idea that would get him killed.

“I didn’t say I was going to go,” he said, suddenly defensive.

“But you are, Bell! I can see it all over your face!” Octavia was angry now. “You can’t do this to me, you’re the only family I have!” she begged.

Bellamy had a pained expression on his face. “I-- I don’t know, O. I feel like I owe them this much. I feel like this is something I have to do.”

Octavia’s nose flared as she tried to hold back the tears that were forming.

“Come here.” Bellamy pulled his baby sister to him and she curled into him like she did when they were younger. He looked down at the little girl wound into a tight ball by his side. Only, she wasn't a little girl anymore.

_You’ll be fine without me._

He stroked her hair as they sat there in silence. It had just been them against the world-- but they’d both been through enough to know how strong the other was. Octavia had a photo on her end table-- a much happier version of the Blakes, of all four of them: Aurora Blake smiling intimately at her husband while Octavia sat on his shoulders, head thrown back in laughter, and Bellamy stood next to them with his arms crossed against his chest-- much too cool for a family photo.

He lingered on the picture with sad eyes. Things weren't easy and carefree like they used to be. They were much much more complicated now.  

Bellamy waited until she fell asleep to make his move. He carefully extricated himself from the couch, allowing Octavia to gently settle back into the cushions, as he laid a blanket over her. He paused for a moment before grabbing the picture frame from the end table to slip the photo from its place behind the glass, sliding it into his back pocket. He headed back to his truck and began (what felt like) a long journey home. As he pulled up to the shop, his eyes found Clarke’s hunched over form sitting at the bottom of the stairs.

She stood as he approached her, cutting him off before he could speak, “Please. Please don’t say anything else right now.”

She just reached for his shirt, gathering it in her hands and pulling him down onto her lips. It was a desperate kiss-- charged with a million different emotions: pain, anger, hurt, passion… _love?_ She didn’t want to talk anymore. She wanted to feel everything and nothing at the same time.

His hands were hot against her skin as he held her face, fingers tracing the line of her jaw. The kiss deepened as Clarke’s hands slipped under the hem of his shirt-- the coolness of her skin causing him to withdraw slightly.

“Clarke...” he said, drawing his mouth back from hers. His hands dropped to his side as he looked into her eyes, searching for something-- though he wasn't quite sure what.

“No.” She grabbed his hand and turned to the flight of stairs. Bellamy followed without protest.

She waited in silence as he fumbled with the keys, letting them into the apartment a moment later. As the door closed behind them, she leaned up to kiss him again, her hands going to the hem of his shirt. Fingers shaking, she managed to get the worn piece of cotton off with his help.

Bellamy leaned his forehead into hers, trying to slow them down.

“I don’t want to go slow,” she said, voice just barely a whisper. “Please.”

“Okay,” he breathed, grabbing under her legs and pulling her up to him. Their lips crashed together again, and Clarke’s hands tangled in his hair. If this was just a fuck, then it was just a fuck.

The closest surface was the kitchen table, so he brought her down onto the edge of it, ripping off her sweater as his hands reached for the waistband of her jeans, pulling at the clasp, then zipper, then yanking them down her thighs. She gasped as his fingers dipped just below the fabric of her underwear, her head dropping back as his mouth pressed hot kisses against her collarbone. He yanked down his own pants, grinding upward as Clarke bucked her hips forward.

Their breaths were heavy, Clarke’s hands fisted in his hair as Bellamy climbed on top of her. The table creaking underneath them, Bellamy pressed his face against hers, skin slick with sweat. Clarke bit at his ear and he groaned, rolling his hips against her.  

It was quick, rough. Both of them broke away, breathing raggedly.

Bellamy climbed off the table and tried to find his clothes-- in their haste they hadn't turned any lights on. Clarke laid still, her chest rising and falling as she worked to pull herself together. She brought herself to a sitting position, Bellamy standing a few feet away with only having pulled his pants back on. As he stared at her, his bare chest was illuminated by the faint glow of moonlight that shone through the windows. He’d stopped moving, frozen with his shirt dangling from his hand.

Reaching for her underwear that had been tossed just to her left, she slipped them back on quietly. Clarke grabbed her shirt from the chair, fisting her hands into it and pulling it against her body.

“So, I guess my car will be ready soon, then…”

Bellamy’s head dropped.

“It’s perfect timing, huh.” Clarke’s lip quivered, _so much for ‘I don’t give a fuck.’_ “I, uh-- can I take a shower?”

He nodded as Clarke lowered herself back to the floor, toes touching down with a feather lightness normally reserved for sneaking around a house after everyone else had fallen asleep.

Clarke reached the bathroom door, pulling it closed behind her as she rested her head back against it. Her entire body was shaking uncontrollably, and she was grateful that she’d made it into the narrow room before the tremors started. _How could someone I've known for two months make me feel like this?_ Clarke turned the lock on the door and moved toward the bathtub, turning the water on hot. She let it run for a few minutes, allowing the mirror to fog up.

That’s when the tears came.

She didn’t take off her remaining undergarments as she stepped into the shower, body suddenly wracked with sobs as she crumpled down onto the floor, the almost scalding water washing over her.

Bellamy stood just a foot away from the door-- the measly piece of wood separating them. He could hear her, his own heart pounding loudly in his ears. Knowing the lock didn’t really work, he reached for the handle timidly, letting himself into the steamy room. She was huddled on the floor of the tub as the water rained down on her, knees to her chest.

He didn’t bother with taking his pants off before he sat down next to her in the shower, pulling her body into an embrace.

Neither of them moved until the hot water ran out, at which point he picked her up and wrapped a towel around her before carrying her to the bed.

Bellamy stripped off his own soaked clothes before they nestled down into the covers. Her body melted into his, head resting the crook of his shoulder, legs tangled with his own. Her hand traced circles over the scar on his collarbone-- he knew she was thinking about the reason he had that.

“When do you leave?” Her voice was small and far away.

“I have to report tomorrow.” He stared at the ceiling as his hands stroked her hair idly. He felt her nod into his side. They stayed like that-- clutching each other, wrapped in each other for warmth and comfort until they fell asleep. But in the morning, she was gone.

+

He reached for her as he drifted back into consciousness, but there was only a cold, empty side of the bed. He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands and then pulled himself out of the mess of blankets.

His uniform fit a little bit more snugly these days, but it would work until he could get fitted before deployment. Packing quickly, he went to grab his keys from the counter before he left and stopped in his tracks.

Sitting just beside his keys was a small manila folder. Curious, he picked it up and opened it to the first paper-- a sketch of the house. As he flipped through the rest of the contents, he found blueprint-like sketches of all the rooms in the house that he had described to Clarke that first night he took her to the Bunker.

There was one of the flagstone hearth, complete with cherry-colored mantle adorned with picture frames and a vase filled with wildflowers. A window bordered each side of the fireplace with light blue curtains-- she had even included the lake in the background.

Just beneath that one was a picture of the bedroom-- a plush, king-sized bed looking out of a wall of windows and a door that led out onto a porch overlooking the water. Every detail he had envisioned laid out in delicate lines of charcoal and pencil.

His chest was tight, and he felt like his center of gravity had been thrown off balance.

Under the sketches there was a small post-it note attached to the back of the folder. Scrawled in very delicate handwriting, there were five words.

_Don’t give up on this. - C_

Bellamy closed his eyes, his mind flashing back to everything that had happened the last two months. When this girl-- this _woman_ \-- had come crashing into his life, he had no idea the effect she’d have on him. Now he was going back to the place he’d spent years trying to recover from-- why? Because those were his guys. Because of some fucked up sense of responsibility. He owed them that much. He owed them the safe return home he was never able to give Miller.

He tucked the folder into his pack and headed for the door, turning the light off after he lingered at the switch for a short moment.

There was hardly anyone on the road as he drove to Octavia’s to say goodbye. They stood in her living room and he couldn't help but notice that Clarke’s boxes were gone. _Sorry you missed her,_ Octavia had said. He drew Octavia into his arms, hugging his little sister tight enough that he could feel her struggling to take full breaths.

“May we meet again,” she murmured into his chest.

With a kiss on the cheek, Bellamy walked out the door, refusing to look back for fear that he wouldn't be able to leave.

He arrived at Fort Benning three hours later and was greeted by his commanding officer, who saluted him first as a gesture of respect for accepting the mission. “Lieutenant Blake, it’s good to have you back.”

“Thank you, sir.” Bellamy mechanically returned the salute.

+

Clarke had slipped out of the bed as the sun peeked through the curtains, not wanting to deal with messy goodbyes-- not after last night. It was early enough to know that Jasper would probably be in the shop soon, and he had promised that her car would be ready to go.

She had the folder of sketches of the house in her bag, and she pulled them out and set them on the counter. Clarke kept all her personal sketches-- the ones of Bellamy sleeping, the sunsets-- she didn’t _want_ to forget what had happened here.

A text from Jasper lit up her phone’s screen at a quarter after seven, letting her know that he had finished her car. Clarke tiptoed out of the apartment, allowing herself one last look at Bellamy sprawled across the bed, her heart rapping against her rib cage as he twisted in his sleep and stretched an arm toward where she had been lying only half an hour before. Almost as an afterthought, she grabbed one of his shirts. He probably wouldn't even notice that it was gone.

Monty and Jasper were both down in the shop-- and uncharacteristically quiet. They said their goodbyes as she got in the car and headed to Octavia’s to get the rest of her things. The brunette was quiet, too, as they loaded the boxes into Clarke’s car.

“Thanks for everything, Octavia. I mean it,” Clarke said as she pulled the small girl into a hug. “It means so much to me that you cared enough to take care of me while I was here.”

Octavia smiled at her. “You’re always welcome here. _Always_.”

Clarke didn’t look back this time. She got in her car and managed to make it to the last stop sign in town before having second thoughts. For ten minutes she sat there, despite there not being anyone else on the road.

Her phone glared back at her from where it was sitting in the cup holder, and, as if it knew she was watching, it lit up, her mom’s contact information flashing on the screen.

She didn’t answer.

Just over ten hours later, Clarke knocked on a large white door.

_It had always reminded her of a hospital._

“Hey, Mom.” Clarke stood there in front of Abigail Griffin, chief surgeon -- slight shock spread across her face. “Can I come in?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're coming to an end. One final piece of the puzzle. Sorry for the heavy chapters. Thanks for joining me on this ride. Please leave me love/reviews/feedback -- I thrive off that shit. You guys are the best. This will be my first complete work... ever. So, it's kind of a big deal and I appreciate ALL of you taking the time to read it and I love you!


	9. finally home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the finale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, as _always_ I could not have finished this story without my glorious editor [Rachel](http://hellamyblake.tumblr.com) [[cardinalrachelieu](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cardinalrachelieu/pseuds/cardinalrachelieu)] - she's glorious and you should read ALL OF HER THINGS.

Abby’s mouth dropped a little, “Clarke.” Clarke shifted anxiously on the porch, not knowing what to say next.

“Um, can I come in?” Clarke repeated herself.

Abby shook her head slightly, trying to bring her thoughts back to reality. “Of course, please, yes.” She stepped back and swung the door open, and Clarke shuffled past her-- turned sideways to prevent any contact. She pretended not to notice the way her mom’s face dropped, a disheartened frown turning her lips downward.

Clarke hadn’t set foot in her childhood home since the funeral. It still smelled the same, she noticed.

Cautiously gliding through the hallway, Clarke’s gaze lingered on the table set against the wall adorned with family photos. There was one of her and her dad-- Clarke, sitting on Jake’s knee, was missing her two front teeth and pulling her mouth wide with her fingers and sticking out her tongue. Next to it was a picture of the three of them from Clarke’s high school graduation.

“Do you want tea?” her mom called from the kitchen.

“That would be great,” she said absentmindedly, eyes still glued to the photographs that served as one of the only remaining physical reminders of her dad.

A few minutes later they were sitting at the kitchen island, Clarke playing with the string from her teabag and Abby staring at her daughter with confusion. The silence was agonizing, but she didn’t really know where to start-- she didn’t even really know why she came.

“Clarke, it’s good to see you and all, and I tried calling, texting, e-mailing... no avail-- and then you’re on my front porch.” Abby’s forehead creased in concentration, the same way it always did when she was trying to solve a puzzle.

“I know,” Clarke sighed. “Things were… getting complicated,” she said, for lack of a better word, “and I was in my car when you tried to call, so I just set the GPS for home again.” The house felt empty and hollow to her-- no longer ringing with the boisterous laughter of Jake beating Clarke at Scrabble (again) or the cheers from all the boys-- Jaha men included-- in the living room during football season.

“I was just so angry. I was angry at Finn, for everything that happened. I was angry at Dad, for getting sick. I was angry at you, for not being able to do anything about it. I was angry at myself for believing I was happy in med school. Mostly I was just angry about a lot of things that I had no _fucking_ control over-- and neither did you guys.” She looked up from her tea, Abby nodding knowingly.

“You left, Clarke. You left and didn’t exactly clue me in on any of your plans. You didn’t speak to me for weeks after Jake died. You didn’t _want_ my help, you didn’t want _me_.” Abby gripped her mug hotly.

“I know!” She stammered. “But-- but, why didn’t you just _tell_ me about Dad?” Clarke said weakly.

Abby's face dropped, and Clarke felt her heart sink into her stomach.

“He was sick for months, Mom. _Months._ And I got _four_ days with him.” Clarke was biting back the overwhelming urge to cry.

Her mother’s eyes were brimming tears now. “God, Clarke. I--” Abby licked her lips, eyes darting around the room searching for nothing in particular. “I just wanted what was best for you. We were trying an experimental treatment, we thought we had more time.” _I was supposed to be able to fix it,_  was left unsaid, but Clarke knew her mom well enough to see the words written all over her face.

The two stubborn Griffin women sat across from each other at the kitchen island with saddened faces, tears spilling from their eyes.

“And you--” Abby choked. “You were supposed to finish school and be a doctor, and it was never supposed to be like this.”

“But I never wanted to _be_ a doctor.” Shock spread across Abby’s face. “I just wanted to make you guys proud…” Clark blubbered, her voice veering off. “So much happened so quickly, Mom.”

Abby was quiet for a moment before responding. “Finn has come by a couple of times,” she said hesitantly. “He said he’d been trying to get ahold of you, he didn’t know you had left town. I don’t even know what happened between you two.”

Clarke didn’t fail to notice the deliberate attempt to get her to explain what happened between them, and she cast her eyes downward as she breathed a heavy sigh. The memories were still fresh and she felt heavy with the weight of a hundred different feelings from the last few months-- all of them fusing together in a muddled mess of conflicting emotions.

Clarke recounted the debacle to her mother, who listened with quiet attentiveness.

“... and so I left. I didn’t want it to hurt anymore. But, now things are even more complicated… I made it all the way to Georgia before the Camry broke down.”

Abby let out a small chuckle, “We were going to get you a new car next year-- a late ‘you made it to med school!’ gift… before everything happened.”

Things were quiet between them again.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke whispered.

“Sweetheart…” Abby started.

Clarke’s lip quivered, “I’m sorry I left you after Dad died. I know you lost him, too. I’m so sorry.” Her voice broke on the last syllable and her self-control shattered, tears finally spilling from her eyes and leaving glistening trails on their path down her cheeks.

The legs of the barstool creaked as Abby pushed back from the counter and wrapped her arms around her daughter. Clarke leaned back into the embrace, her head nestled under Abby’s chin. Try as she might to contain them, the tears rolled freely down Clarke’s face as her chest heaved from the force of her sobs. Abby clung to her, fingertips almost bruising the flesh of Clarke’s arms as Abby rocked them back and forth in a pitiful attempt to soothe her daughter’s cries.

Clarke pulled back, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand.

“You should stay for a few days, tie up loose ends. Your room is still made up,” Abby offered.

Clarke smiled, dragging her hands across the back of her neck and shrugging up her shoulders to try and release some tension. “Well, I’ve got no where else to be.”

+

The front pocket of his uniform housed a photo and a folded up drawing. Bellamy sat on the aircraft taking him back to the place he associated with the darkest part of his life, the wasteland responsible for countless nightmares and too much death. As the plane hit a small bout of turbulence, his hand instinctively went to his chest and he closed his eyes.

Bellamy would meet his team on the ground-- several soldiers from his platoon were still on active duty: Murphy, Mbege, Dax-- good soldiers. He noticed a dull throb beginning to form underneath the scar tissue on his right side, but it may have just been in his head. Anxiety tended to make his old wounds fester, though they had long since healed.

It was a long flight, and, even though he wasn’t able to stretch out very much in the tight quarters, he managed to doze in and out for a solid amount of time. His dreams were plagued with childhood memories of Octavia and Miller-- and the spunky blonde that had come careening into his life.

His heart and his brain battled the logistics of the decision to return to active duty-- even if it was only for this one mission. Bellamy couldn’t get out of his own head, constantly playing and replaying scenarios of Afghanistan.

There was a staticy voice in his ear as the pilot announced they’d be landing shortly. Bellamy prepared himself-- well, as much as possible-- for going back into battle.

+

Clarke found herself walking around downtown after her mom had gotten called into surgery and the house was still too quiet for her liking. She rounded the corner her favorite bookstore was on when she stopped dead in her tracks. Finn Collins was standing right in front of her-- wearing a loose white t-shirt, jeans and flip flops-- and his hair was longer than she remembered.

“Clarke,” he stammered. “I didn’t-- when did-- it’s good to see you.”

Clarke clutched her bag, not quite sure what to say. “Hey, Finn.”

“Your mom told me you’d just left town-- she didn’t know where you were headed.”

She laughed, “Yeah, neither did I.”

Finn’s eyes bore into her, trying to read her. “Can I buy you a coffee?” he asked hopefully.

“Yeah, okay,” Clarke accepted, and walked awkwardly with Finn to the café a few doors down, all the while making empty small talk. Being a nice day, they decided to sit outside. Silence hung between them until Clarke shattered it, “How’s Raven?”

Finn cleared his throat, “Uh, I don’t know. Haven’t seen her in a while.” Clarke perked up in surprise. “After she got back, things were a mess. We tried to make it work for awhile-- but things weren’t the same, y’know? Neither one of us was the same person anymore. We were just kidding ourselves.”

Clarke nodded, allowing the silence to return.

“I’m sorry for hurting you, Clarke,” Finn said softly, dragging one hand behind his neck. “I should have told you about Raven-- but hell, it was painful. She’d already been gone a year when I met you. I had made peace with it, I had told myself I was going to move forward.”

“I loved you.” She said, staring at her hands.

“I love you, Clarke.”

Clarke raised her eyes to him, “I can’t.” She saw the hurt in Finn’s eyes, felt it the longer his gaze held hers. His messy mop of hair fell across his face, and he moved to rake it back with his fingers, jaw clenched. “Sometimes life has other plans,” she finished, moving her hand to his knee as a show of comfort-- a way to give them both closure.

Finn bit his lip, but nodded. “I understand.” He leaned in, placing his hand on the back of her head as he kissed her gently on the forehead. “It was a good run, though.” He smiled sadly, and untangled his fingers from her hair, standing up and tossing his cup in the trashcan next to the bench. “I’ll see you around, Clarke.”

Clarke stayed planted on the bench for a few more minutes, a heaviness lifting from her chest. A door had finally closed, but what about the one she had opened in Ark? Her mind turned back to Bellamy, wondering where he was now-- _would he make it home one day?_

+

The first few weeks were brutal. Sand storms were at a season high, and Bellamy definitely was not used to it. It made him painfully aware of just how long he hadn’t been on active duty. The platoon was patient and they took to him quickly enough, obeying his orders and seeing that the protocol was followed-- no excuses. Each night the camp moved around the perimeter of the region they were watching, following the mission plan.

Sleep was a rare commodity. Bellamy was usually relieved of his watch duty around three, and he’d wander back into his tent, lay on his cot, and pull out the folder from his bag. Flipping through the sketches and the one photo he’d brought along, his mind would fill with memories of home-- of the comfort and warmth it brought.

But it wasn’t warm anymore-- it was excruciatingly hot, sand burning his throat and eyes. There was no comfort, only long days and even longer nights. There were only heavy packs and unreliable technology. Bellamy prayed for an end.

Each night the team would navigate the streets of small villages, searching for intel and hoping to catch a break. Bellamy felt that they were closing in on a location. They were close, _he felt it in his bones._

+

The next week passed and things slowly returned to some semblance of normal, but Clarke was getting antsy. She kept thinking about the job offer, about Bellamy, about Octavia, even about Jasper and Monty. Her mom had decided to take them out for a nice dinner one night, and all Clarke did was fidget.

“Clarke,” Abby said sternly. “Honey, is something bothering you? You’ve been in another world all night.”

Clarke fiddled with the knife beside her plate, avoiding eye contact with her mother before she finally sighed, “You haven’t asked what I did after I left.”

“I didn’t think it was something you wanted to share with me,” she replied.

“My car broke down in Georgia, just outside a little town called Ark. _That’s_ where I was the past two months.” Clarke’s chest ached as she recounted the events that had transpired to her mom-- Bellamy, the festival, the mission, the job offer. Abby was quiet as she finished her story. “And then he was leaving, and all the sudden, everything _hurt_ again and I couldn't stay.” Clarke was shaking now, trying to fight back the tears.

“Clarke,” Abby started, lingering on the name as she formed her next words carefully. “You left here because you were unhappy, because this place held too many reminders of the things that broke your heart. It sounds to me like you found somewhere-- some _one_ ,” she corrected, “who helped you find a reason to be happy again. Don’t give up on that-- on him-- so easily.”

To say that Clarke was surprised at the words she was hearing would be an understatement, but they hit her hard. A pang in her heart told her that her mom was right-- she had found a reason to move forward, a reason to be happy, a _home._

+

Bellamy was covered in sweat and dust and his equipment felt too heavy. His body ached from exhaustion. He heard the reverb of heavy breathing in his headset as he glanced to his left where Sergeant John Mbege was also huddled behind the wall opposite him.

Bellamy murmured instructions to the group flanking the left side of the building. They had been lucky up to this point. Minimal injuries sustained-- no deaths.

Inhaling sharply, Bellamy dropped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. It was time-- everything was on the line here.

“On my mark, team.”

+

Clarke stared at her phone sitting on the coffee table in front of her. She’d thought about picking it up a million times over the last few weeks.

“Ah, fuck it,” she mumbled, snatching it up and dialing a familiar number. It rang three times before a surprised voice came on the line.

“Oh my god, Clarke?! It’s so good to hear from you!” Clarke smiled at the obvious excitement etched into each of Octavia’s words.

“Octavia, hi, how are you?” Clarke managed.

“I’m great, I’d been waiting to hear back from an event planning company in Atlanta about a job I had applied for-- I have an interview next week!”

Clarke smiled sadly. “That’s incredible, O. You deserve it.” Unsure of what to say next, a tense silence hung between them. Clarke, mentally kicking herself, finally mustered, “Have you heard from Bellamy?”

“Not in a while,” she answered, tone ladened with sadness. “I got a letter last week, but nothing new-- they’re still trying to locate the missing soldiers. Although, he did say he was confident they were close. I have no idea when he’ll be home.”

Clarke heard her sigh. “I didn’t tell you this, but… when I was in Ark, Mr. Lemkin offered me a job at the high school. Do you know if they ended up finding someone? I know school already started…”

“Actually, I think they ended up cancelling the classes. Miss Lucy took a turn for the worse, and they didn’t have any viable applicants.”

Clarke’s voice dropped, “Oh.”

“I miss you, Clarke…” Octavia admitted. “Anya doesn’t like House Hunters or Friends. Plus-- she only eats _vanilla ice cream_ , like Bell. What I am supposed to do?” She chuckled.

“Miss you too, O.”

“Hey, I've got another call coming in. Let’s talk again soon, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course. Talk to you soon,” Clarke said.

“Bye!”

_Click._

Clarke had made up her mind. She went to her bag and fished out the small business card that Mr. Lemkin had handed her that night at the diner. With a new found confidence, she dialed his number.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mr. Lemkin. It’s Clarke Griffin.”

“Ah, Clarke. I didn’t think I was going to hear from you,” he said lightly.

Clarke grimaced to herself, “I am sorry about that-- things got a little… complicated, as it were. I was just calling to-- well, you see… I was wondering if it would still be possible to take you up on your offer?”

+

Octavia was eating Rocky Road and watching House Hunters International when heard a knock on her door. She wasn't expecting anyone, so she wrapped the blanket around herself tightly and leaned up on her tip-toes to look through the peephole.

“Oh, my god!”

She flung the door open to see Clarke Griffin standing there, duffel bag in hand. Octavia threw her arms around her friend, almost choking her.

“Octavia. Can’t. Breathe,” Clarke squeaked out.

“Oops,” she laughed, releasing her grip and stepping back. “What are you doing here?”

“I, um-- I called Mr. Lemkin and asked if his offer was still good. You’re looking at Ark’s newest high school art teacher.” She held her hands out, as if to present herself, and offered a smile.

“You’re staying!?” Octavia practically yelled, bouncing on her toes as she threw her arms around Clarke again, engulfing her in a tsunami of flannel.

+

In the week following Clarke’s return to Ark, she had found a small, but modest apartment to rent and started her new job at the high school. It was tricky at first, trying to figure out high schoolers-- but they all seemed to really love her and what she had to offer.

She was sitting at her desk in the art room finishing up her lesson plans for next week when her phone lit up with an incoming call from Octavia.

“Hey, O--”

“He’s coming home!” Octavia cut her off.

“W-what?” Clark stammered.

“They completed the mission, he’s coming home this weekend!”

Clarke was overtaken with emotion-- relief, anxiety, happiness. “Oh, my god.”

“I’m throwing him a welcome home party, please say you’ll be there.”

“Oh god, of course. I wouldn't miss it.”

+

Clarke had made Octavia promise not to mention her when talking to Bellamy. She didn’t want his homecoming to be about her. Octavia had driven out to Fort Benning with Jasper to pick him up while Monty and the rest of the gang set up the party.

Butterflies danced in her stomach all day leading up to the moment she would see him again. _What would she do? What would she say?_

A small group had started to gather in the yard, and there were tables set up with refreshments as upbeat music played in the background. Clarke’s nerves were on fire and she made herself small, finding a chair to sit in near the back of the yard and sipping on a glass of lemonade (to which she may or may not have added a little something).

The group of people started to stir as they saw Octavia’s car approaching the building, and Clarke went numb.

She stood at the back of the crowd as Bellamy stepped out of the car and electricity surged through her. His dark hair was shorter now (but still unkempt), his skin was more golden (tinted from the harsh sun) and he looked exhausted.

He was greeted with hugs and pats on the back and _welcome homes_ and _alright, mans_ \-- even a _Bellamy Lucille Blake, the party awaits!_ Clarke felt herself shrinking back, not wanting to be noticed-- until his eyes met hers. She would’ve cried if she wasn’t frozen solid. His whole body melted when he saw her, tension rushing out of him. Bellamy’s features softened and he looked at her, _really_ looked at her.

Both of them stood there, unmoving, the crowd of people around them unsure of what was happening. Bellamy brought his hand to his mouth, trying to hide the obvious emotion he was projecting. Suddenly, he crossed the yard in a few short strides and wrapped Clarke in an embrace-- her arms thrown around his neck, his hands around her waist lifting her into their air, spinning slowly.

He smelled like aftershave and peppermint, and her hands gripped the back of his shirt-- never wanting to let go. He lowered her back to the ground, her feet landing gracefully as they remained just centimeters apart.

“I thought you were gone,” he breathed.

“Well, I left something very important,” Clarke said, looking up Bellamy with wet eyelashes.

Bellamy brought his hand to her cheek, “Oh, yeah? And what was that?”

“My heart, you idiot,” she whispered hopefully, smiling into his hand.

Bellamy brought his mouth down to meet hers, kissing her deeply. His heart raced and suddenly he heard someone clear their throat. They pulled apart, Bellamy laughing embarrassedly while tucking Clarke in under his chin.

The group around them stood with various looks of shock and amusement at the scene in front of them. (They both flushed red when Octavia let out a low whoop.)

“Now if you two are finished with your _precious moment_ , we've got ourselves a party here.” Octavia quipped, “I even got you vanilla ice cream, you big dork.”

Bellamy beamed at his little sister and gave Clarke a gentle squeeze.

He was finally _home_ , they both were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BLESS YOU ALL FOR READING.
> 
> Like, honestly. This is the first thing I've ever finished on this scale. I am incredibly overwhelmed by your words and kudos and people bugging me to update. I love you all so much, and I thank you fore sticking with me!
> 
> Keep up with me on [tumblr](http://hellamybellamy.tumblr.com), and I hope to keep more new stories coming!
> 
> edit-- epilogue [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2198535) :) thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://hellamybellamy.tumblr.com). Thank you for reading!


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